


bargaining for more

by sassymajesty



Series: bought, owned, earned [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, i need the pope himself to bathe me in holy water to save me from this fic, so much Sinning™ and Filth™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 154,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8072155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassymajesty/pseuds/sassymajesty
Summary: “Despite working in the industry I do, being married to my work isn’t a good enough life for these people. I need someone who can act a certain way, convince people of what I need to sell, and I do believe you’re the best candidate. If you’re interested, that is.”Lexa closes her eyes for a moment - she got it all out and didn’t really embarrass herself or exposed herself too much, that was something to be proud of - before looking at Clarke again. She’s smirking, the playful glint in her eyes giving away her amusement. This probably isn’t the first time someone asked her to play pretend. Which shouldn’t surprise Lexa, yet, somehow, it does.“So, you want, um... the girlfriend experience.”





	1. december, 19th

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece (or more of a follow up, really) to [paying for love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4545984). It's not completely necessary for understanding - I actually think some details have changed, even - but that one is almost as sinful as this, so knock yourself out.
> 
> I'd like to apologize in advance by the sheer amount of Sinning that this story has. I have a place reserved for me in hell and it's called the goddamn throne.

**_DECEMBER, 19TH_ **

After running her eyes over the same words for the fifth time without reading them, Lexa lets her book fall with a thud on the coffee table. The thousand-page classic strains her wrists as well as her eyes in the romantic light of her hotel room, and Tolstoy’s big words are hardly calming her worked up nerves. She eyes the empty tumbler, a ghost of the whiskey she had downed still lingering at the bottom, and leaves a frustrated puff of air - it had done nothing to help her get rid of her shaky anxiety. It sits accusingly beside the recently opened bottle of wine, some expensive earthy kind from a year she can’t remember - she hasn’t touched that yet, waiting for her guest to arrive.

She’s marginally calmer than she was during their first encounter, but her skin still prickles with the thought of blonde curls splayed against her bed sheets. 

Lexa gives the book a dirty look, as if it’s the Russian classic’s fault she can’t focus, and gets up, walking towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that displays a different landscape from the one they both gazed at the first time Clarke visited. The full canopies that colored green the street below had given way to bare branches that decorated the thick white blanket laid out on the street. It feels almost foreign, to see that immaculate white and know that it is below freezing in the street when she is so warm inside her hotel room, in her sleeveless button down shirt and pant suit. Yet somehow it feels like home, watching the snow gathering on the windowsill - New York in the winter could be as magical as the tale went, but she’d still take Canada over it any day.

A knock on her door takes her out of her nostalgic reverie, and she takes a moment to straighten her back and pick at a nonexistent lint on her pants, before striding to the door, more confidently than she felt. She hesitates for half a second - maybe this is a mistake, just like their first encounter had been - before opening the door to reveal wild blonde curls, rosy cheeks and smiling eyes. Lexa barely has time to take her figure in before Clarke is shutting the door with her heel, a surprisingly warm hand cupping her cheek as cold lips enclose hers in a soft kiss.

“I’m glad you called,” Clarke whimpers against her lips, unwillingly breaking the kiss and touching their foreheads together, “I’m  _ really _ glad you’re back in town.” Lexa reaches up for her forearms, more for support than anything, and leans in for another kiss. She tells herself it’s muscle memory and refuses to let herself think about how it’s been months since her last kiss, how much she misses the feeling of lips against hers, a tongue against hers. She lies to herself and lets Clarke deepen the kiss.

Lexa’s back is hitting the wall as Clarke presses her body flush against her before she even realizes what’s going on. She hasn’t said a word yet, but her entire body is on flames. As her arms enlace the Clarke’s waist and pulls her closer, hips colliding and a soft sigh leaving their joined lips, Lexa almost forgets she’s paying an insane amount for these kisses. When Clarke breathes her in as she breaks the kiss, pupils blown wide with desire and cheeks flushed by more than winter wind, Lexa can swear Clarke has also forgotten this isn’t any ordinary hook up. Either that, or she’s so damn good at her job that she fools the lie detector Lexa had spent all of law school developing.

“I want to talk-” Lexa pushes her hips against Clarke’s, a whimper catching in the back of her throat as Clarke presses back, “-first.” They break apart, Clarke all but stampering back, both flushed and breathless, chest heaving as they take each other’s hungry gaze in. “You can take off your coat, if you want, and-” Lexa walks towards the coffee table as she talks, picking up the thick envelope and handing it to Clarke, “-here. Would you like some wine?”

She turns her back to Clarke to pour their wine after a confirmation, giving the woman some privacy to count the money and make herself more comfortable. Lexa sits down on the armchair, elongating her spine as she sips on her wine. If she had slowed down her gulping, she might have been able to taste the earthy tones and half other adjectives she had memorized from the menu, but she finds out she’s too nervous to want anything from the wine besides the soft buzz. 

By the time Clarke sits down on the loveseat before the coffee table and takes her glass, swirling the liquid in a way that shows she knows what she’s doing, Lexa is ready for a refill. She lets herself watch Clarke for a moment and notice the way her bottom lip hugs the rim of her glass, the long neck connecting to exposed shoulders in the perfect angle for a kiss, how her black pumps make her legs longer and more enticing the closer they get to hem of the skin clad dress. 

Gods, it has already been too long.

Their last encounter - in mid March, when the spring air had just reclaimed its right over the winter winds - had been the last time Lexa had been intimate with someone else. Between nights spend doubled over files that needed her attention and early morning meetings, Lexa had barely had time to  _ think _ about how needy she was, let alone find time to take care of things. But seeing Clarke’s cleavage threatening to spill from the low cut of her dress made her acutely aware of how long it had been.

“You wanted to talk?” Lexa is pulled back to the present by Clarke’s low voice, her cleavage even more prominent as she leans against her crossed legs.

“Yes,” Lexa takes a deep breath in, falling back into her high executive persona - if she looks at this as a business transaction and nothing else, it’d be less humiliating. Or at least, so she hoped. When she looks at Clarke once more, warm blue eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of something else, Lexa sees a future business partner to whom she must be direct, clear and practical, not all mumbled words and low raspy sighs. When she looks at Clarke, she’s every inch of the  _ Commander _ everyone fears so much in Toronto. “I’d like to make a business proposal to you, in fact,” she shifts a little at her own word choice, but Clarke remains still and focused on her, “You’re a very attractive woman, as I’m sure you’re more than aware. You seem to be able to hold yourself in… delicate situations, for lack of better word. We haven’t really talked much in our last encounter-” Lexa bites her cheek to keep the blush from warming her face, “-but I have the feeling you’re capable of holding pleasant conversations with most types of people, considering it could be a required for your field of work.”

“Do you tell this to everyone you make business with?” Clarke says in a teasing, throaty voice, drinking from her wine before Lexa can read her expression.

Thoroughly ignoring her, Lexa keeps on mechanically reciting the words she had made herself memorize, “Considering your profile and what I’ve disclosed to you at the end of our previous meeting,”  _ about Costia, _ Lexa wants to add mostly to make herself clear, but she doesn’t want to say her name around Clarke again, as if that would taint her memory even further, “I’d like you to accompany me in a few upcoming events. I’ll be meeting a few colleagues, attending some holiday parties, mostly with business partners and clients, a few more with friends and acquaintances.” The thought of her brother taking her to the side and asking if she’s doing okay on her own for the fifth year in a roll is too much to bear, and she can only take so much of the pity looks from people who she’s been working with since before the accident. “Despite working in the industry I do, being married to my work isn’t a good enough life for these people. I need someone who can act a certain way, convince people of what I need to sell, and I do believe you’re the best candidate. If you’re interested, that is.”

Lexa closes her eyes for a moment - she got it all out and didn’t really embarrass herself or exposed herself too much, that was something to be proud of - before looking at Clarke again. She’s smirking, the playful glint in her eyes giving away her amusement. This probably isn’t the first time someone asked her to play pretend. Which shouldn’t surprise Lexa, yet, somehow, it does. She swallows past the Sahaara-like dryness in her throat as she watches Clarke set down the wine she has barely touched and stride in confident steps towards her.

“So, you want, um... the girlfriend experience,” Lexa finds herself following Clarke’s breasts as she throws a leg over hers, straddling her and shifting to make herself comfortable. Realizing what she’s doing, Lexa tears her eyes away and tries desperately to focus on Clarke’s eyes.

Needy, weak and completely at someone else’s mercy in a moment - it’d be funny, if it wasn’t so mortifying.

Her voice is hoarse when she squeezes out a “I suppose, yes,” with as much composure as she can muster, which isn’t much. The whiskey and wine mix is starting to get to her, Lexa ponders, that would explain the warm molten lead in the pit of her stomach and the fuzzy feeling slowly taking her legs away from her.

It certainly has nothing to do with Clarke’s mouth pressed against the underside of her ear, “Can I call you babe?”

At that, Lexa lets out a breathy laugh and drops her hands onto Clarke’s exposed thigh, the cold skin rapidly warming under her touch. “I don’t do pet names,” she says plain and simple, arching her head to the side to give Clarke more room to work on.

“What about honey?” Clarke says again in a teasing tone that Lexa barely notices as the words themselves are muffled between lips and the underside of her jaw. She gives Clarke a one word answer -  _ “no” _ \- as she busies herself on splaying her hands against the soft skin under them, “Okay…” Trailing off, Clarke swirls her tongue against Lexa’s pulse point as she weaves her hands into her hair, keeping her close, “Pumpkin pie. That’ll certainly sell us as a couple.”

Lexa can’t even muster an answer as Clarke is simply talking senseless words to her ears in between teeth scraping her neck. She moves her hands up Clarke’s thighs and under the hem of her dress, whining under her ragged breath as the blonde breaks contact and leans back on Lexa’s lap, who can’t do much but look at her through heavy lidded eyes, “Was that a no?” Clarke smirks and Lexa moves her hands to rest possessively on her waist, pulling her hips towards her own, “I’ll just call you sugar lips, then.”

Before Lexa is able to even bother herself to try and think of a decent and witty come back, Clarke’s lips are on hers again - hungry, urgent, demanding. Clarke’s tongue finds hers in a familiar movement and she hates how often she’s thought about their kisses. But Lexa can hardly care when she can feel Clarke’s breath against her cheek.

But not for long. Too soon Clarke breaks the kiss and once more the overwhelming need growing in Lexa’s belly seem to be all too powerful. And,  _ gods _ , it annoys Lexa to no end that Clarke doesn’t seem at all affected by this.

“What about PDA?” Clarke mentions it, as if they were truly discussing the terms of their agreement, and Lexa sighs, leaning back to put some much needed space between them. She can’t think clearly with Clarke’s scent clouding her mind.

“I hardly think we’ll have to make out in public,” Lexa takes a deep breath and leans against the armchair back more comfortably, shifting her hips under Clarke’s and letting her hands slide from her waist to her exposed arms, “I suppose we won’t have to go much further than holding hands.”

Clarke untangles her fingers from Lexa’s curls and holds her palm up for Lexa to place hers on top. Their fingers intertwine in a loose hold and Clarke lets them fall on her lap before leaning in and sealing their lips in a second long touch, “Could I do this?”

“I guess you could,” Lexa thinks about the boring events that lay ahead of them and music how much public displays of affection they could sneak in between business conversations and politely looking at pictures of newborn grandchildren,

“And this?” Clarke lets their fingers untangle and drapes her arms around Lexa’s shoulders, almost as if they were getting ready for a slow dance. She leans in and nuzzles her head into the curve of her neck, inhaling Lexa’s scent in, whose hands find their home on Clarke’s waist one more time, pulling her closer.

“That would be okay,” Lexa whispers against the skin of Clarke’s neck, her lips dragging against her pulse as the blonde peppers kisses up her neck, swirling her tongue against the back of her ear and taking her earlobe in between her teeth.

Before she can police herself and stop, Lexa lets her mouth slack open and a throaty moan come out, burying her face back into Clarke’s neck as the blonde tangles her fingers in her curls again, tugging at it for Lexa to expose her neck further. She closes her eyes as Clarke scrapes her teeth against her pulse, sucking at it until Lexa feels light headed. Between the lusty fog, Lexa doesn’t think before pulling harder on Clarke’s waist until they’re flush against each other, her lips meeting Clarke’s collarbone. When the blonde starts waving her hips, Lexa grits her teeth and pulls back a fraction, warning in a hoarse voice, “We can’t do  _ this _ in public.”

Clarke lets out a laugh against Lexa’s neck and sits back on her lap, letting the pads of her fingers trace patterns on the arms wrapped around her waist, “I guess it’ll be better to leave it for later.” Lexa opens her eyes, a question glinting on them, and Clarke wets her lips and looks at her through her eyelashes, “You know, when we’re alone… Back in your room.”

It takes Lexa more than a moment to realize what Clarke means, “I… You wouldn’t- I’d never ask you to-” Somehow, Lexa didn’t realize they’d be having sex - that she’d be paying for sex as well as her company.

“Come on,” Clarke starts, drawing the vowels as she tucks a strand of hair behind Lexa’s ear - who doesn’t need a mirror to know she has mussed hair and her curls are everywhere, “Having a girlfriend has its perks.”

Clarke leans in for another kiss, but Lexa straightens up again, trying to blink away the haze clouding her thoughts, attempting to get her business savvy brain back. They had to discuss schedules, payment, dress code, had to come up with a simple yet believable story as to why no one had heard about her before - and Clarke’s drawing her fingers up and down her exposed arms, trailing the underside of her breasts and toying with the buttons on her blouse isn’t helping to sharpen her mind, “We should probably- discuss the details-”

“Not now,” Clarke’s voice is almost snappy as she draws herself back to her knees, tugging at Lexa’s lapels until their lips meet in a frenzy of teeth and open mouths, tongue sliding against tongue, lips colliding in pure desire. Clarke angles herself until their bodies are flushed together, leaving Lexa to arch her head back to keep the kiss from breaking.

Lexa wants to feel Clarke, each inch at a time and all at once.

The kiss deepens, grows sloppier as the need becomes all too much for constricted moves. Lexa moves her hands to the hem of Clarke’s dress, sliding it up until it’s bunched around her waist and she can splay her hands on Clarke’s behind. She kneads the soft flesh, playing with the edge of her panties, and Lexa can see herself doing this for two weeks. She tells herself she’ll welcome the release simply because it’ll help her get through the holidays in one piece - and she believes her blatant lie when Clarke sighs softly into her mouth. 

Lexa grabs the underside of her thighs and pulls harder than she intended to, breaking the kiss and having Clarke seated on her lap in one swift motion. She had wanted simply to bring her closer, but her eyes meet the blue pools of Clarke’s, lids as heavy as hers, lips bee stung much like hers feel, and  _ god. _

Again, Lexa can swear this isn’t just an act.

She follows Clarke’s hungry gaze to her chest where her blouse was half opened, probably from all the tugging, a hint of white lace peeking through. Lexa keeps her hands splayed on Clarke’s thighs as the blonde meticulously unbuttons each button. Lexa’s eyes are glued to the swift hands working her clothes off, falling to Clarke’s own heaving chest as she pulls her blouse open, falling slightly from one shoulder. Lexa grips her thighs harder as Clarke splays her hands across her stomach, the pads of her hands dancing across the span of her skin.

“Want me to- take it off?” Lexa manages to squeak out half a sentence, barely willing herself to move her hands from Clarke’s thighs to undo her bra. She’s halfway through before Clarke sets her hands back on her thighs, higher than before.

“Leave it on,” Clarke whispers, drawing Lexa’s hands to her inner thighs before putting her hands back on her taut stomach. Lexa whimpers at the warm feeling of Clarke’s thigh, her thumb grazing the edge of her underwear. She’s so focused on how  _ damp _ the fabric is that she doesn’t realize Clarke is kissing her until it’s over and she’s drawing a trail of wet kisses down Lexa’s jaw, neck, collarbone. 

Lexa puffs her chest out and Clarke lets out a laugh - probably at how desperate she already is - before closing her lips around the stiff peak. The feeling of Clarke’s tongue pressed against her through the fabric makes her mind go blank - eyes closed shut, mouth half open, shaky hand trailing to tangle into blonde curls to keep her in place, the other sneaking under her dress, splaying flat on the small of her back. She lets herself sink into the feeling and between teeth scraping her pebbled skin and Clarke’s free hand going down, down, down, Lexa could only barely keep herself from crying out.

Pulling Clarke’s face up, Lexa brings their lips together in a hungry, urgent kiss and loses herself in the feeling of Clarke tongue, still tasting like wine, against hers. She’d be okay with kissing, only kissing and nothing else - as long as Clarke kept taking her lower lip into her lips and soothing a light bite with her tongue. She’s so far gone, thinking about nothing but how good it feels to have a body pressed against hers and how good of a kisser Clarke is, that she only realizes her pants are open when the pad of a finger grazes over her covered slit.

The sudden touch surprises her and she moans softly into Clarke’s mouth, breaking the kiss and gritting her teeth to keep the sounds in. She shouldn’t be so weak but the lazy circles Clarke is drawing on her bud, too lightly to do anything, is already enough to have stars peppering the blackness of her screwed shut eyes. Lexa whimpers unwillingly when Clarke draws her hand away from her and shifts on her lap. She feels cold at the sudden loss of contact, but lets both her hands fall back on the arm chair, desperately trying to get her breathing even once more - and failing miserably.

Her heavy lidded gaze follows Clarke’s movement, unable to do much more than comply to her unspoken orders. Clarke kneels again, this time straddling only one of Lexa’s thighs, and she reaches for the free leg to throw it over the arm of the armchair. Lexa feels how erratically her heart is beating, how sticky the apex of her thighs is and she can’t help herself as she reaches for Clarke once more, connecting their lips in a kiss that the blonde soon brings to an end.

A question in her hungry eyes, Lexa remains quiet as Clarke presses her thigh against her and pins her shoulders on the backrest. Her hands fall limp on Clarke’s waist, seeking meaning in the deep pool of her eyes. Clarke merely dips her head and traces her collarbone and jaw with the tip of her tongue, until she reaches the shell of her ear, “I want you-” Clarke starts, her voice sultry and low as her hands map the skin of Lexa’s torso, “-to be loud.”

Lexa closes her eyes for a moment, considering her options. It’s one thing to express her pleasure, being  _ loud _ is something else entirely. She could count in one hand how often she had lost control and screamed in blissful abandon as Costia coaxed her down from her high. And even then, she had either drank a lot or their foreplay had left her on the edge for too long. It hadn’t happened often and it hadn’t happened with anyone else but Costia. “I’m not loud,” she says in a whisper, her voice as convincing as a child’s after they were caught elbow deep in the cookie jar.

She hears an amused chuckle coming from the blonde still kissing her neck before Clarke draws back and straightens up, “We need to be comfortable with each other-” Clarke whispers, blue eyes bored into the gold-sprinkled green of hers, “-we need to seem close-” she lowers her hands, tracing the muscles in Lexa’s stomach, making them twitch, “-and in love.” Lexa draws a deep breath as Clarke’s hands reach the seam of her pants, going downwards in a excruciatingly slow pace, “We need intimacy-” Clarke finds the apex of her thighs, cupping her yet barely touching her, “-and for that-”, she hooks her finger on the edge of Lexa’s panties, pulling them aside just barely, “-I need you-”, the pad of her fingers find the  _ drenched  _ slit, pressing down only enough to give her a taste of what is to come, “-to be loud.”

Lexa’s voice is strained as she answers, “I am not loud,” her firm resolve being shattered into pieces as soon as Clarke starts circling her entrance without any pressure. Between the teasing and Clarke’s eyes fixated on hers, Lexa gasps to keep a moan inside as she lifts her hips, groaning in frustration when her neediness is clear as water in the constrained noise she makes.

Leaning in to kiss her in between a chuckle, Clarke takes her lower lip into hers and smiles into the kiss, “Fine, you’re so not loud,” she says, not believing her own words for a second. Lexa grips her hips in a faint warning that makes Clarke laughs softly as she moves her hands properly inside the panties, gliding her fingers through slick flesh, “Then I want you to...  _ let go _ ,” - and with the two last words, Clarke slides her fingers inside.

With a start, Lexa screw her eyes shut and grits her teeth, arching her back as Clarke remains still. Fingers inside, face hovering so close Lexa can feel her - probably amused - breath hitting her cheeks. She can feel her walls gripping and pulsing around Clarke’s fingers and god, god,  _ god _ , its been so damn long, way too long, she’s missed the desperation in her belly, she missed the feeling of complete shamelessness when searching for release and, god, god, oh  _ god _ if Clarke doesn’t start moving soon, she  _ will _ scream.

Rolling her hips forward, trying to find some friction that isn’t coming, Lexa barely hears Clarke coaching her with a soft yet firm voice - “ _ Loosen your jaw, come on. Open your eyes now, yes, look at me - god, your eyes are so beautiful. Relax your back, yes, that’s it. Good. Don’t hold back, come on, Lexa.” _ Following the instructions blindly earns Lexa a slow lazy thrusting, without a proper rhythm - too little pressure for the tension threatening to burst her open.

Lexa lasts all of two minutes pretending this is enough before she splays one hand against Clarke’s belly and pulls her in for a kiss with another, her fingers curling around golden tresses. A sigh leaves her throat as Clarke slides her tongue against hers in the same lazy rhythm as she’s pumping her fingers in and out of her and suddenly it’s way more than Lexa can handle yet, somehow, less than what she needs. She buckles her hips, trying to change the angle and more than willing to beg Clarke to  _ just get it done _ , but all it gets her is Clarke breaking the kiss and stopping her fingers.

“What do you want?” Clarke says in a low voice, and Lexa grits her teeth to keep a frustrated grunt inside. All she has the mind to do is rock her hips against Clarke’s now still hand, knowing it’s obvious what she wants, “Look at me and tell me what you want,” Clarke took her fingers half way out, keeping Lexa from doing anything to help herself get some release, “I wanna hear you say it.”

Lexa looks up through hooded eyes and her insides curl in on themselves at the sight of Clarke’s warm eyes on hers, breasts heaving so close she could bury her face in the pale mountains and never come up for air again. Clarke looks at her expectantly, almost daring her to say the words. Lexa feels her neck getting hotter, the tips of her ears burning so badly it hurts - but between the need pooled in her stomach and the promise in Clarke’s eyes, the embarrassment seems worth it.

“I want you…” she runs the pad of her thumb across fair skin, tracing her jawline as Clarke reaches for her neck to keep their eyes locked, “to  _ fuck me _ .” Her words float in between them for a moment, each letter seemingly infinite. They seem to be what Clarke was hoping for, considering her low moan at the words, and she starts moving her fingers in and all the way out, slowly and lazily still, but with something resembling a rhythm now. Lexa closes her eyes and lets herself enjoy how the slender fingers stretched her walls and hit her  _ just right _ and she can’t remember why she thought this would be a bad idea.

“Can you be loud?” Clarke says in a low voice, her thumb flicking over Lexa’s clit which makes the brunette buckle her hips again and let out a raggedy sigh, “Please?” Lexa hears the want in her voice and sees it in her blue eyes once she finds the strength to open her eyes, and  _ yes, yes, I can _ . She’d scream from the rooftop if it meant Clarke would speed up her thrusting, “For me?”

Lexa nods once, not trusting her own voice, and drops her head against Clarke’s shoulder. She loosens her jaw, willing the sounds to come out one Clarke picks up a faster pace - she gives herself a moment for her soft sighs to become more vocal, for her gritted teeth inhales to become loud groaning. All it takes is Clarke shifting the angle and drawing errant circles on her bundle of nerves to have a string of filthy moans filling the room.

“Faster,” Lexa orders against Clarke’s collarbone, the single word mixed with a cry, being promptly rewarded with an increase of speed - doing as she was told had never felt this good. “ _ Fuck _ ,” she drags the vowel and stops abruptly at the ‘k’, her own hand meeting Clarke’s wrist and angling it just right. 

She throws her arm across Clarke’s shoulders as the blonde sucks on her pulse point - she’s so far gone she can barely worry about a possible hickey, all she can feel now is the rhythmic flicking of Clarke’s thumb over her bud, the fingers going in and out and in again until she’s seeing stars peppering the black behind her screwed shut eyelids, the speed increasing as she gets louder, louder,  _ louder _ .

The sounds echo in the bedroom, her own voice - now slightly husky from the almost excessive moaning and the pleasure running through her veins - floating back to her and she doesn’t have the mind to analyze how odd it is that her own noise is turning her on even further, not when Clarke is whispering senseless encouragements on her ear, not when she’s so close and  _ fuck. _ Between the curling of Clarke’s fingers and her chuckling against her ear, Lexa soon is shooting her head up, spine strained as she rides the wave of her orgasm.

A smile reaches her lips as Clarke helps her down from her high, every accidental brush on her too sensitive bundle of nerves sending stars back to her vision, her hips jolting upwards erratically. Lexa hides her face on Clarke’s neck, taking in the quiet of the room, finding herself quieter as well.

_ God _ , she hadn’t realized how much she’s missed the soft buzz afterwards, and the way the blonde kept on mumbling nonsenses against her skin only made this seem more heavenly. Just as her mind drifts back to their precious conversation - cut short by kissing and touching - is that Lexa realizes Clarke’s fingers are still buried within her and  _ moving _ .

“ _ Clarke _ ,” she means it as a warning, but it comes out breathy and cut by her own desire building back up. She falls forward again, Clarke’s touching nearing torture. Her skin feels like it’s on fire and her insides curl up as she throws both of her arms around Clarke’s shoulder to anchor herself and closes her legs against the blonde’s to it’s pressing the hand inside of her, making each thrust deeper and harder.

In what feels - embarrassingly - like mere seconds, Lexa is shivering, jaw slack open against Clarke’s collarbone as a string of curses come mixed with moans out of her. They stay connected for a moment longer and Lexa feels boneless. When Clarke draws away from her, she whimpers and falls back on the arm chair, her hands falling back to exposed thighs and she watches through hooded eyes as Clarke closes her lips around her second knuckle, sucking her own finger. Lexa makes a noise and she’s not even sure if it was a frustrated grunt or an aroused moan, but Clarke shuts her line of thinking by kissing her lazily.

“I can’t tell what I love the most,” Clarke says against her lips and Lexa barely registers her words, too lost in the taste of herself in the other woman’s lips, “You cursing like a sailor or screaming my name.” Lexa remembers cursing, she can’t be sure about  _ screaming _ Clarke’s name but her mind has been so pleasantly foggy she doesn’t argue - nor doubt Clarke’s word, it’s very likely she did scream her name. She feels her cheeks getting warmer and embarrassment flooding her - did anyone else in the hotel  _ heard _ her? As she’s starting to work herself into a panic attack, Clarke kisses her again, brushing her dark curls away and tracing her jawline with her fingertips. Lexa opens her eyes as the blonde shifts and gets to her knees, finding blue eyes glued on hers, “We can discuss the details of our arrangement now, if you’d like.”

Her tone is painfully casual as she gives Lexa a last quick kiss on the lips before leaving her lap entirely. By the time Lexa has the coordination to zip her pants back up, Clarke is already back to the loveseat, her dress covering her legs again, hair smoothed down to near perfection. Lexa stares - she feels like she has the right to, Clarke just watched her meltdown in moans and screams - as she gets up and buttons her shirt slowly, fingers still clumsy from the high she’s getting down from. Clarke reaches for her wine, taking a modest sip as her eyes are burning on Lexa, following the path of skin she’s slowly covering. And  _ fuck it _ if desire starts pooling in her belly at the sight, despite her legs being wobbly still and the acute hurting in the apex of her thighs.

Running a hand through her curls, twisting it into a lazy knot on top of her head, Lexa excuses herself to the bedroom. She needs to get her planner, filled with the schedule she’s supposed to keep and all the meetings she needs to attend, and  _ good lord _ , she needs to check her reflection and at least try to look composed.

The body length mirror shows an image that makes her groan. Between the wrinkled shirt falling out of her pant suit like she’s some middle aged man getting home drunk from the office and the redness in her neck that she’s sure will develop into a hickey, Lexa looks anything but the professional lawyer in a business meeting she wants to present herself as.

Sighing, she tucks her shirt back inside her pants and adjusts the collar, willing herself to keep it together. She takes her planner, thickened by the year’s events, along with a legal pad to write down everything Clarke should know, and strides back to the living room area, head tall and eyes sharp, looking more confident than she felt.

“The first event is two days from now, on the 21st,” Lexa starts, keeping her voice even as she sits down beside Clarke and accepts the wine the blonde offers her, “We opened a filial in New York in March, and this is an office gathering of both our employees from Toronto and here. A mixer, some would say.” Lexa can feel Clarke’s eyes burning on her but she keeps her eyes fixated on her planner, flipping the pages and reading her scribbles that no one else would understand. Clarke is nodding along, sipping her wine politely and drawing closer to Lexa. “On the 23rd we have a similar event, this time with our New York employees only and a few our clients-”

Lexa keeps talking, pausing to clarify some question Clarke has or to add some information about a particular event and how things should go along, how they should behave as to convince everyone they’ve been together for a few months now. By the time they have finished discussing payment and meeting times, Clarke has her mouth on her ear again, drawing Lexa’s hand back under her dress.

As her planner falls to the carpeted floor, Lexa wonders if she’ll even survive what’s bound to be two  _ long _ weeks.


	2. december, 21st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, [this is how Clarke’s hair looks](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/b4/e8/ca/b4e8ca6c4bf74dedf1963e691acb1950.jpg).

**_DECEMBER, 21ST_ **

Tossing her hair all to one side and securing it with a few pins, Lexa fusses with the modeled curls that falls down her back and chest. 

She’s nervous, and she can’t find something to blame it on.

Office parties are her bread and butter - she’s hosted a dozen since she became one of Polis Associates’s senior partners and attended twice that much in the last year alone. She’s signed countless contracts over a good brandy and solves more issues in one party than in five meetings. Yet, she feels like this is her first time attending one, as nervous about her looks and attitude as when she was a mere intern. Maybe it’s because this is a holiday party where conversations are supposed to be casual instead of business centered, maybe it’s because this is the first party she’s bringing someone who isn’t Costia.

She slips into her shoes and stands tall in front of the mirror as she gives one more once over on her look to make sure it’s okay. Smoothing the navy blue lacy fabric of her dress that shows more cleavage than she’s used to, Lexa wonders if it’s too late to change into one of her business dresses - pencil skirt, square neckline, modest and practical. Instead, she takes a deep breath and grabs her clutch, unwilling to admit to herself she cares about what Clarke will think of her looks, and glances at her watch.

Time to go.

With one last look at the body length mirror to check her makeup - and absolutely not check if her butt looks good on that skin clad dress - Lexa leaves the room, switching off the lights and snagging her winter coat from the back of the armchair.  _ God, that armchair _ . She still hadn’t been able to sit on it without squirming, preferring the spacious loveseat that  _ didn’t _ remind her of soft skin under her palm and a new name leaving her lips. She lets the door slams behind her as she strides towards the elevator and if it rattles in its frame, she’ll pretend it’s bad architecture.

Clarke and her had agreed to meet in the lobby - god knows if they got to the bedroom, they’d never make it there on time - at 7h30, so they’d have time to get to the hotel were the party is being hosted before everyone else. It was only appropriate for the senior partners to be there earlier and to reception the guests, make sure to greet everyone as they got there and that no surprises would be waiting for them.

For the same reason, Lexa is ten minutes earlier for her meeting with Clarke. She is much more comfortable waiting for the blonde to arrive, sitting quietly in the lobby as people pass her by, orchestrating how the night might play out. But when the elevator doors open, it takes Lexa all of one glance towards the sitting area to find blonde hair that could only belong to Clarke.

“You’re early,” Lexa says in lieu of a hello as she gets within earshot, which is a sign of both how well Lexa is handling herself in this whole endeavour and how great of a beginning this night is having.

“So are you,” Clarke answers simply, getting up from the chair she was waiting on and crossing the distance between them in a few strides. Lexa watches in shock as Clarke invades her personal space and sets a gentle hand on her forearm, which makes her tighten her grip on her clutch, before leaning in to join their lips in a chaste kiss. She holds the kiss for a moment too long, and Lexa is too stunned to react, “You look  _ breathtaking _ .”

It takes her a moment to filter the compliment, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “Thank you, Clarke.” She licks her lips and lets herself take the blonde in for the first time that night. Her hair is twisted in a messy bun with braids woven into it, a few loose strands framing her face, the light color contrasting with the dark shade on her smoky eye makeup that brings out the blue in her eyes. Her long sleeved black dress is modest, and if it’s a bit short, the boat neckline makes up for it - which Lexa is thankful for, the last thing she needs is to worry about her wandering eyes towards Clarke’s cleavage. “You too look beautiful.”

Clarke smiles in response, trailing her fingertips up Lexa’s exposed arms and connecting their eyes - the blue is strikingly bright and Lexa finds herself unable to tear her gaze away. “Since we’re early,” Clarke starts in a low voice, inhaling deeply as she takes half a step closer, “do you want to go back to your room?”

Taking a step back out of pure shock, Lexa stares at Clarke’s raised eyebrow - she really  _ will _ get what she’s paying for. But she’s quick to dismiss it, not allowing her mind to come up with any scenarios that can’t play out in the moment, “We should be going, I’m not sure how heavy traffic will be. Let me just call a cab and we’ll go.”

“No need, I’m driving,” Clarke says simply, taking her coat from the chair and motioning for Lexa to go first.  _ Such a gentlewoman _ , she thinks, and chastises herself a moment after -  _ don’t make this about more than it is. _

They both slip into their coats, the biting wind making itself clear through the wild pattern the snow makes on its way down. It’s a gorgeous night, the yellowed light from the street making the snow seem more romantic than cold. But Lexa can only think about all the disastrous things this night could bring.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to take a cab?” Lexa can’t tell for certain what the protocol is, but she sure isn’t paying Clarke to be her driver on top of everything. The blonde seems comfortable enough retrieving her keys from her coat pockets as they walk towards the double doors.

Clarke reaches for her hand and Lexa lets her intertwine their fingers in a loose hold. It’s for show, of course, for them to get used to the feeling of holding hands like they would if they had in fact been dating for months now. Lexa hates it that she has to remind herself of that. “I’m not a fan of cabs. They remind me too much of work.”

She’s the one to open the doors and conduct Clarke to go first, their hands never parting. The wind hits her hard and she lets a breath out, the air clouding in front of her, “And this isn’t work?” 

“Is it?” Clarke smirks and raises her eyebrows suggestively as they walk towards a red Cadillac.

Lexa stays put for a moment too long after Clarke opens the passenger door for her, stunned beyond words. She has to remind her - for the umptenth time in less than half an hour - that this is an act. She’s paying Clarke to be a good actress. She still haven’t said a word when they drive off the curb.

The streets are busy with people hurrying back home after a long day at work and a few clueless souls braving the cold and the snow. Inside the car is warm and the silence is bearable, if not comfortable. It takes her a moment wondering what the knot in her stomach was to realize this is the first time she and Clarke are just side by side, quiet, without the prospect of sex as soon as a few pleasant words are exchanged. 

She nearly jumps through the windshield when Clarke places a hand on her thigh.

Lexa stares at Clarke’s hand, the warmth seeping through the fabric of her dress. Clarke glances at her as she stops in a red light. “Is this okay?”

“Sure,” she keeps her voice even and casual, despite the fact the wild beating of her heart is almost visible through her plunging neckline. “As long as you’re not planning on doing this in front of people.” Lexa hopes her words fall on Clarke’s ears as a sign that she’s not looking forward to any kind of public displays of affection, and not that, if Clarke does this between a drink and another, they’ll probably end up leaving halfway through the party and having sex on the backseat of her car. 

She meets Clarke’s eyes for a moment before the blonde is speeding up once more, smirking as she says, “I plan on being much more discreet about our undying love.”

Narrowing her eyes towards Clarke for a second too long, Lexa turns to look outside her window, “Very funny.” Her tone is dry and suddenly the passerby teen in a hoodie shaking in the cold as he waits for his dog to do their business is the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.

Clarke squeezes her thigh, calling her attention back to her, “Don’t worry. You have nothing to worry.” Oh, how Lexa wished she could believe those words. She has  _ everything  _ to worry about, “I’m a pro. We got this.” Lexa meets her eyes and there’s a certainty in the blue of them she envies, “I got you.”

Lexa only nods as Clarke retrieves her hand from her thigh and grips the steering wheel to make a turn. The spot where Clarke’s hand had been resting feels suddenly cold and Lexa almost wonders if the blonde has a fever - she’s half scared she herself has a nervous fever, as her insides seem to have melted into a puddle of anxiety and dread.

This was an awful idea.  _ The  _ worst idea she’s had since she thought she could Legally Blonde her way through a case. She should have just gone alone, like she had attended every event in the last seven years - all the hushed conversation about how lonely she was would have been better than the mortifying shame she’d feel when they all inevitably found out this was nothing but a scam. 

“Is there anyone I should know about?” Clarke’s voice seems distant as her mind flies through all the worst case scenarios and how to deal with them all, but Lexa snaps her head to her, a question in her expression, “An important client or business partner I should go ‘oh, yeah, Lexa has talked about you’ and all that?”

Lexa watches as Clarke takes another turn, licking her lips as she narrowly avoid hitting a guy in a bike equipped to the teeth with protection gear. She tries - really,  _ really _ tries - not to stare, and avoids her gaze, thinking about someone she’d have talked to her girlfriend about. If the girlfriend in question had been Costia, the answer would have been ‘ _ everyone _ ’. The memories of her first years are still tainted by the woody perfume exhaling from the body pressed behind hers as she went through the cases she’d have a minor part in, babbling in lawyer terms as Costia kissed her neck.

“No, I don’t think so,” Lexa answers, shaking her head slightly as if the images of late night with a highlighter falling from her hand as she focused on the sleeping body beside her would just fall from her mind, “I think only Anya, I would have mentioned her the most often. And Gustus, our senior.”

Gustus will probably give her a hard time when she introduces Clarke, Lexa muses, but definitely not as much as Anya will. Being childhood friends with one of the best lawyers in her firm would earn her more teasing than she could handle with an empty stomach.

“Okay…” Clarke trails off, clearly not done with the subject. She’s seen Anya’s and Gustus’s pictures, and has heard the name of all the employees they’d be meeting at least twice, so Lexa turns more fully to her, “What about your partners and clients from New York? Anyone I’d know?”

“Do you want to know if you’ll find one of  _ your _ clients in there?” The words fall from her lips before she can filter them - she didn’t mean the words, she didn’t mean the bite in her tone. Lexa wants to shove the words back down her throat and choke on them. She stares at the street in front of them and the pedestrians that cross in front of the car, without bothering to even look both ways. Her voice is small when she croaks out, “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Yeah, it was,” Clarke agrees, as if Lexa had merely mentioned the weather. If the comment hurt her, Lexa can’t tell - but that’s mostly because she refuses to meet the blonde’s eye. She keeps her eyes trained ahead of her as Clarke continues, “But it’s a concern.”

Now Lexa turns her eyes to Clarke. Her impossibly blue eyes are on hers for only a second before turning again to the road and Lexa sees emotion, but the moment is lost too quick for her to name it. “I don’t think anyone I work with would hire an escort.”

“You’d be surprised,” Clarke’s voice is firm, dry to the bones, and Lexa is silent as they drive up to the street where the party is being hosted. 

Lexa allows herself to imagine what kind of elements Clarke had to deal with in her life as an escort. Considering how expensive it is to have Clarke’s company, Lexa doubts she’s the type of person who lets someone walk over her and humiliate her somehow. But she’s aware not everyone is after a romantic affair with a pretty girl and, if the talks she had with a few sleazy clients in bars at two in the morning are anything to go by, there are people who would pay a small fortune to do absurds their spouses would never even dream about.

Money can buy a lot of things, and a wave of shame almost drowns Lexa when she realizes she has nothing to compare what Clarke has been through, or what her day to day job is.

As they park, Lexa turns to the blonde, who fiercely avoids her gaze, and she tries to keep her voice as soft as she can, “They all have families, Clarke.”

“They always do,” Clarke has the same cold tone and it makes Lexa shiver worse than the snow outside. The muscles on Clarke’s jaw suggests she’s grinding her teeth and Lexa should let it go - she really should just let it go and take the blonde’s hand as they walk inside.

Yet, she finds herself spilling out, “Most of them are balding middle aged men, barely managing to put their kids through college.” Oh, they’ll hear so many stories about how expensive tuition is nowadays, and how the private prep-schools are more and more competitive, and how someone is already in the waitlist of a preschool for their unborn child, “They hardly look like someone who would hire an escort.”

“And  _ you _ do?” 

Clarke looks at her, raising her eyebrow in question and Lexa is stunned silent once more. No, she doesn’t. People who’d hire escorts are old men, tired with work and bored with life, asking an escort to give them a blowjob their wife won’t hear about. She pictures a virginal boy, wanting to have sex for the first time before going off to college, a weirdo in their forties who wants to dress up like a toddler during sex. 

But  _ she _ has hired an escort for two entire weeks. 

The door opening takes Lexa out of her reverie, and she blindly accepts the hand that is offered to her. Clarke has a wide smile as their fingers intertwine, and Lexa forces herself to forget their conversation. It’s show time and she can’t keep questioning the morals of her actions - that’s what bedtime is for.

Clarke pulls her closer as they walk the short path down towards the hotel, squeezing her hand softly as she asks, “Are you ready?”

It’s oddly comforting. Lexa lets out a heavy breath, a cloud forming in front of her, her heart beating wildly, “Do I have any other choice?”

Clarke whines as she opens the door for them to get inside the hotel, both girls welcoming the sudden warmth, “Nooo, you’re supposed to say-” and she changes her voice to what Lexa can only imagine it’s a poor performance of a UFC fighter, “ _ I was born ready. _ ”

The whole scene - Lexa walking in hand in hand with a silly girl doing silly imitations for her eyes only before they walk into a room that will fill with boring old men - seems hilarious, and Lexa laughs harder than she thought she would, leaning in against Clarke with her eyes closed in joy. Clarke chuckles softly against her cheek and Lexa feels inebriated. 

It only takes the coat check attendant to smile at their happiness before asking for their coats for Lexa to sober up. They aren’t here to laugh at each other’s bad jokes or seem blissfully in love - that’s on tomorrow’s to do list. They're here to make a good impression on new clients, establish their partnership and wish everyone happy holidays - after which they'd return to sign deals with them. This night is much closer to a business meeting than it is to a date. So Lexa thanks the coat clerk guy and strides towards the ballroom, spine straight as a rod, her expression a cold but polite one - she's every bit the Commander they call her behind her back. Oh, how she hates that nickname.

She feels Clarke's hand settling on the small of her back as they enter the ballroom - still blissfully empty. The staff is all dressed up on ties and black aprons, but are still giving the final touches to the room. Lexa likes arriving at that time, where she can still fix whatever was wrong. And so do both Anya and Gustus, since they are animatedly chatting in a corner, pointing one thing and another.

Lexa looks around, checking the items on her mental list as she makes sure everything is as should be. It’ll be a long night of doing just that, but it calms her nerves a little to realize the work is flowing easily and everything is nearly ready.

It doesn’t take long for one of the staff members to recognize her - she had dealt with most details personally, making sure to know everyone who’d be making this night a success - and swoop in with drinks for both her and Clarke. She takes a whiskey without thinking twice - to be successful in a male-dominated field meant adhere to habits men had, and it helped that she really liked the smoky taste in the amber liquid.

Only then she turns to Clarke. The blonde is taking the room in, looking bored with her champagne twirling as she moved the flute without drinking any of it. The silence between them has grown uncomfortable since their spat in the car, the humor before checking their coats lost in a heavy awkwardness. 

Lexa turns on her heels, moving to Clarke’s side and leaning in, “Everyone in this party will be very… business savvy,” she keeps her voice low, almost a whisper, as she’s well aware sounds carry in places with an architecture like this, “They’ll probably drown you in boring technicalities of their jobs and they will want to know what you do, how you do it, if you’re thinking of expanding.” If there’s one thing her clients like to do, it’s to talk about work in every opportunity - which she’s also guilty of, and actually enjoys talking about politics at dinner table, but this is a delicate situation that needs to be handled carefully, “This topic completely left my mind when we were discussing the details but-”

Clarke interrupts her, and she’s glad because the memories of why their conversation was cut short flood her mind, “Don’t worry. One word about what I do and no one will want to talk to me about anything related to work.”

All blood leaves her face as she stutters “You’re not thinking- you can’t”

A small laugh bubbles from Clarke and Lexa stares at her so hard it could drill a hole into her head, “I don’t really plan on telling them I’m an escort. Relax, babe.” Lexa scrunches her nose at the pet name, a caution warning on the tip of her tongue, but Clarke keeps going, “I do have an art gallery in Brooklyn. We can say we met there when you were looking for something to gift your new partners with or something like that.”

“Is that your go to fake story when you’re pretending to be someone’s date?” Lexa spills in a bitter tone, and it comes as a wild surprise to her that she feels so strongly about Clarke being in this situation with someone else. She downs half her whiskey in one gulp.

Based on her interactions with the blonde so far, Lexa wouldn’t be surprised if Clarke wondered how the hell she became a lawyer in such a prestigious firm when her self control is clearly almost non-existent. 

“I actually came up with this yesterday,” her tone is casual, but as Lexa holds her eyes, she can see a tinge of hurt in them, “I got a new mural from this crazy talented artist from SoHo and it reminded me of you. It’d look nice in a fancy firm like yours.”

The comment takes Lexa aback - not only had Clarke thought about the holes in their story, she had been sweet enough to think about  _ her _ .

“I’m sorry,” is all that Lexa can manage, in the smallest of voices. She scolds herself about not measuring her words and thinking about the consequences - she’s too confident on herself in court to be this clumsy around a pretty girl. A pretty girl who she has hurt twice in the span of half an hour, “You really do have a gallery?”

“I do,” Clarke turns chipper again and instead of comforting, the sight is worrisome to Lexa. How often did it happen that she could switch from hurt to perfectly fine in a moment? “It has its fair share of hipster paintings, abstract sculptures and sepia photographs there, but it’s mine. I’m actually hoping to expose something of my own soon.”

The thought amuses Lexa and somehow it seems fitting to have Clarke amidst countless art pieces, she herself covered in paint or clay, “You’re an artist?”

“Mostly, I draw.” Clarke’s eyes shine with excitement, and Lexa doesn’t miss the genuine smile on her lips, “My apartment is a mess of canvas I didn’t finish and sculptures that are just blobs of clay, but my sketchbooks are out of control. It helps clear my mind, you know? From work.” Clarke stares at the untouched champagne, her smile widening for a second, “I’m still working on the painting part. I can’t really get the colors right most of the time, and charcoal isn’t as attractive to the eye as watercolor or oil painting.”

Lexa watches as Clarke avoids her eyes, turning instead to the couple that just made it into the room, cheeks turning pale pink as if she’s embarrassed. Lexa feels like she’s learned more than she was supposed to, and reaches for Clarke’s arm, trying to think about something less cliche than  _ ‘I bet you’re a great artist’  _ to say and comfort the blonde after the oversharing.

Of course, Anya chooses that moment to greet them.

“I spend a whole  _ month _ away and you don’t even have the decency to come say hi?” Anya says in an offended tone, but her frown gives way to a teasing smile right before she engulfs Lexa in a hug. They’ve been like this since they were children and walked hand in hand through the playground, and she’s the only person Lexa allows herself to be this touchy with nowadays. They part a moment later, Anya taking Clarke in, “Is this her?”

Lexa sighs - why did she expect anything else from Anya? She turns and sets her hand on the small of Clarke’s back, “Clarke, this is Anya,”  _ my  _ ex  _ best-friend _ , she wants to add, but she leaves the scolding for later, when they’re alone. She doesn’t really know how to criticise Anya without sounding like they’re in middle school and her friend outed her to her crush.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Anya. I’ve heard a whole lot about you,” Clarke plays the part flawlessly, offering her hand for the taller woman to shake - Lexa can see Anya squeezes her hand a little too hard.

“I bet she didn’t talk nearly as much about me as she did about you. At some point I thought my ears would actually fall off,” Anya laughs and Lexa sinks into herself, trying to make herself as tiny as possible because, clearly, Anya was out to kill her and whatever hope she had of looking composed in front of Clarke.

Clarke turns to her, running her fingertips down her arm until she could tangle their fingers together, keeping them at her back, “You talked to people about me?” 

From the glint in her eyes, this isn’t part of an act. Clarke is way too amused with this - maybe more amused than Anya.

“She wouldn’t  _ shut up _ about you for the first two months of your relationship,” Anya turns her attention to Clarke, dutifully ignoring Lexa’s death glares and how her face turns dangerously close to a shade of red only someone having a heart attack could muster, “But I knew you as New York Chick. Or well, I nicknamed you that because Lexa here wouldn’t tell me your name.”

Clarke smile is wide and bright, her voice breezy as she reaches out to touch Anya’s arm, “I really wish we had met sooner.” She turns to Lexa, squeezing her hand and bumping her shoulder playfully, “So I’m your New York Chick, huh?”

“You’re probably the sole reason she came to New York so often these last months. It’s a wonder she got anything done with the new firm at all,” Anya mentions casually and Lexa flinches a little - she really didn’t need the reminder of how many nights she stared at the phone, thighs aching with the memories the wine brought rushing back to her.

“Time to stop before you embarrass me further,” Lexa says in a light tone, but setting her jaw tight, making it clear how uncomfortable she was with this, “If that’s even possible.”

“What?” Anya feigns ignorance, but she’s clearly too entertained by making her best friend squirm beside a pretty girl to do a good job of hiding it, “Since when do I do that?”

“Since always. Now  _ leave _ ,” Lexa says in a pointed tone, knowing fully well the lengths Anya could walk. And she wasn’t really all that interested in having Clarke finding out about her two am calls to Anya about how she couldn’t sleep thinking about  _ a certain someone _ and how she could not handle a crush right now.

“I’m only leaving because there’s booze over there and I’ll need a lot of it to put up with your sappiness,” Anya  _ winks _ and Lexa untangles her fingers from Clarke’s, setting her jaw in a challenge. Anya doesn’t notice the change in her expression, turning to the  _ New York Chick _ once more, her smile replaced by a serious mask “But Clarke, you and I will have a chat later. I wanna know more about you, since boring-pants here wants to keep you all to herself. I’m also gonna need to have that talk about how if you break her heart, I’ll have to break something of yours,” the smile creeps back in a teasing way, her eyes never leaving Clarke, “like a leg, or your neck.”

“Jesus Christ _ , leave _ ,” Lexa pushes Anya, almost spilling the rest of her drink as her friend sways away, clearly unaware of how much damage she might have done to Lexa’s stoic appearance she has been fighting so hard to keep when she’s around Clarke. 

Lexa should have guessed Anya would be a nightmare - she still has emotional scars from the first time Anya and Costia spent more than ten minutes together. If she was in fact dating Clarke, Lexa would have tried to hide her away from Anya for much longer. 

“I’m really sorry for th-” Lexa begins to apologize, only to have her words cut short by Clarke’s lips pressed against hers. She tries to reason with herself when her heart starts hammering against her ribcage and blame the surprise of the kiss - not the kiss itself. 

Clarke intertwines their fingers again and holds Lexa’s chin with her free hand, tipping it down to deepen the kiss slightly before breaking apart. “You are adorable when you’re embarrassed”

Through the haze of the sudden kiss, Lexa couldn’t muster a much better answer than, “Anya is dead to me.”

People are pouring in by now and they should start making rounds, thanking people for joining them and making small talk in every other table. Lexa is about to suggest that when Clarke takes the glass from her hand, settling it on a nearby table as she takes both of Lexa’s hands into hers.

“Did you really talk about me?” Clarke says and tugs at Lexa’s hands, only enough to call her attention. When Lexa finds her blue eyes staring so attentively at her, she almost believes this is real.

“I might have mentioned you. Once, or twice.” She keeps her voice even and averts her gaze towards a table with one of the new junior partners, pretending to not remember his name only to give her brain something to do other than think about how good it felt to kiss Clarke in public, “I didn’t talk about you for two months straight, she took it way out of proportion”

Clarke seems as intent on keeping Lexa’s eyes on her as the lawyer is on avoiding them. The blonde taps her cheek once, before letting her hand fall to her exposed arm “I’m glad to see I had such an effect on you.”

When Lexa does meet her eyes, Clarke is smirking like she had just found out she was the best laid Lexa has ever had - which she was, technically speaking, but there was no need to advertise that. She tries to sound reproaching, “There’s no need to be cocky, Clarke.”

“I think I have the right to be,” Clarke raises her eyebrows as she singsongs and gives her a quick peck on her lips, like a schoolgirl would, before announcing she’d be getting them fresh drinks so they could ‘get this party started.’

That’s why they had come, Lexa reminds herself, to mingle with clients and partners. She takes a deep breath, steadying her thoughts and steering them towards polite talk and  _ how are you _ s and  _ oh little Jimmy really does look good in his baseball uniform _ that would make this night fly. 

Lexa accepts the drink Clarke brings her -  _ “on the rocks, so you stay at least a little hydrated” _ \- and guides them towards the guests filling the room. They start with Gustus - Lexa keeps her hand on the small of Clarke’s back the entire time, who’s surprisingly talkative about the same social issues Gustus is so fond of representing.

“You’ve got his heart,” Lexa whispers in Clarke’s ear when the blonde puts herself at his service, offering to help with art lessons and decoration, as he talks about his plans of opening a youth center for underprivileged kids, focusing on making it a safe space to LGBT teens.

Between introducing Clarke to nearly every partner in both her firms and chatting with their clients’ spouses about nothing important, Lexa finds herself reaching for the blonde as if it’s a reflex, making sure she’s comfortable with the topic at hand and looking for her when they get caught up on different conversations. 

Lexa also keeps count of how many people congratulate her on “moving on” - by hour two, it’s been five people and that’s five too many.

They’re talking to one of the junior associates about him moving to New York - Clarke doing the devil’s advocate and urging him to do so, because “ _ New York is so much cooler than Toronto _ ” - when she excuses herself to refill her drink. Clarke keeps the conversation flowing and it’s like she’s done that all her life, Lexa can’t help but be a little proud of herself for making such a good choice.

As she grabs water for Clarke, who gave up on pretending she’d drink her champagne a while ago, and exchanges her empty glass for one filled halfway with whiskey, someone taps her shoulder. Lexa settles the glasses back on the table as she turns to look at whoever it is that can’t call her or ask for her attention in a more polite way, rolling her eyes in a hardly subtle manner.

“Miss Woods, I’m not sure if this is the right time, but-” the boy - she recognizes him as one of their interns, always a shaky mess - stutters as he loosens his tie, clearly scared beyond his senses, “I may have told the guys in Abernathy’s that their contract would be signed by tomorrow and- and- it won’t be bec- because their partners are suing them instead?”

Lexa blinks. It takes her a moment to place who the hell Abernathy’s is - when she does, she’s  _ pissed _ .

“You did  _ what _ ?” she says through gritted teeth, hardly wanting to make a scene in the middle of a party. This isn’t the place or the time to discuss this, and she wishes she could simply brush it off, but her blood begins to boil.

The kid wipes his sweaty forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief, “There’s nothing to worry about, I’ve called them and informed them about the situation. But- but they expect to talk to you first thing in the morning so I thought I’d-”

“ _ Shut up _ .” her voice is low and rispid, and she sets her jaw straight as she bore a hole in the intern’s head. She was more than aware her clients were being sued by their former business partners, in ridiculous grounds that she could very well handle with her eyes closed - but there was a reason she hadn’t told them anything yet. Closing her eyes for just a second to keep her hands from wrapping around his throat, she continues, “Are you telling me you spoke with  _ my _ clients about a confidential information you couldn’t possibly have known about without informing me?” 

The boy stutters again and if Lexa weren’t so busy trying to think about how the hell to calm her clients, she’d feel pity for the shaky shadow of a young man. “I- I- I did, but-t I’m sure there’s some-something I can-”

“You’ve done more than enough,” she raises her voice slightly and she’s aware some people are staring - what a great timing for the band to take a goddamned break. Lexa can almost feel Anya getting closer to try and calm her down. The blonde might be a fan of yelling, but she has the biggest soft spot for basket cases. “Actually, no,” she reconsiders, sending a visible shiver through the scared man, “You’re going to call them, let them know how incredibly asine you are, and ask them to call my personal phone tomorrow at 8am sharp. Do you understand me or should I draw you directions?”

All blood leaves his face, and he doesn’t seem to be able to stand on his own two legs for much longer, “Right- right now?”

“Yes,  _ right now _ .” Lexa gives him a pointed look. She’s vaguely aware of people staring, some are probably commenting on how her neck vein is about to burst or calling her names she’s more than familiar with - she’s hardly loved by everyone she works with, but it can’t really get to her anymore. After a pause, the boy is still staring at her dumbstruck, as if glued to the floor, “Go,  _ move. _ ”

He squirms away from her, almost running into a waiter as he searches his pockets for his phone. Lexa closes her eyes and grits her teeth, counting backwards from ten, as she sees Anya closing the distance between them.

“Well,” Anya starts, the tone of her voice almost amused, “That was a bit harsh.” Most people fall back into easy conversation, now that the show is over, as if hardly surprised by the unfolding of things. It’s not unlike Lexa have arguments when people don’t do as they’re told.

“He’s fired as soon as we’re back,” Lexa doesn’t even really know how the kid got to New York in the first place, “Either that or he’s under your services alone and you’ll be personally responsible for him never to come near any of my clients again.” She straightens her back and grabs her half forgotten drink, downing the dark alcohol in two gulps - hardly lady like, but it’ll do its job to keep her calm through this party as soon as it hits her, “He’s going nowhere if he can’t obey orders or handle being talked loudly to.”

“Okay, we’ll see this back in Toronto. But you gotta admit, you’re a bit scary,” Anya says jokingly, opening a wide smile as Lexa glares at her, “See? That look right there. Scary. The poor dude must have pissed himself.” Lexa can’t be bothered by him or the state of his underwear right now, her mind buzzing with alcohol and plans of how to calm her clients down. Anya places a hand on her arm, drawing her attention back to her, “Come on, let’s find your girlfriend and you can mope to her.”

“She’s not my-”  _ but she is, until New Years, she is _ . “I don’t  _ mope _ . I just can’t stand incompetence, and you can tell me anything, he’s a far cry from a good intern.”

“I know this speech, you’ve told me that about at least seven other interns. Including the one who’s your right hand in that damn office, so shush, and let’s find Clarke,” Anya grabs herself and Lexa another drink, dragging the brunette by the arm towards the other edge of the room, where she had left Clarke. Lexa lets her and blames her last whiskey - drinking that fast is never a good idea - for the tingling in her spine.  _ Yes, let’s find Clarke. _ “She’s nice. I know I’m a dick for exposing your sappy side, but come on, this girl has had you on the palm of her hand for what, eight, nine months now? I can’t believe I’m only now meeting her.”

Lexa really should find a way to shut Anya up. She goes with the lie, pretending she hasn’t been lonely all this time, pretending she actually did have Clarke for all those months, “Considering your behavior, be glad I haven’t hidden her away for longer.”

Anya laughs her hearty laugh that always makes Lexa smile, “I’ll behave. But only because you seem really happy with her.” Frowning, Lexa takes in her last sentence. Before she has time to find a comeback, Anya is all but throwing her in Clarke’s direction, who smiles at the sight of them, “Here, control your woman. And the heart eyes are disgusting everyone in this room, so please keep it to a minimum.”

Turning to Clarke, who’s still with a smile firmly in place, Lexa blinks away the fog in her brain as the blonde lets her hand fall to Lexa’s waist, holding her forearm with the other hand. She’s one whiskey too close to being tipsy and that’s the last thing she wants to be with Clarke standing so close.

Clarke leans in, kissing the underside of Lexa’s jaw before whispering in her ear with a husky voice, “You’re way too hot when you’re bossing people around.” Lexa falls into the caress, shivering at the warm breath hitting her skin, before drawing back to stare at Clarke. None of this is helping her keep herself together, “I could eat you up right now.”  _ None of this is helping _ . “Do you think the restrooms in this place are nice?”

At the wiggling of Clarke’s eyebrows, something inside of Lexa comes to life - and it’s not pleasant. She untangles herself from Clarke’s embrace, taking a step back as she shakes her head. Lexa drops her untouched drink at the table she finds herself leaning against - she can hold her liquor alright, but tonight she needs to sober up and remain sober if she wants to make it back to her hotel with her dignity intact.

“I don’t do sex in public places, Clarke,” her voice is lower than she intended, and she thoroughly blames Clarke and her inappropriate suggestions, “Most of all, I don’t do bathroom sex. No matter how nice they are.”

She does have a line drawn on how far she’s willing to go - and she gets closer to crossing that line with every step Clarke takes towards her. 

“Do I really have to wait until we’re back to the hotel to touch you?” Clarke once again places her hands on Lexa, one in her forearm, the other just under her ribs. “How long do we have to stay here?”

Gritting her teeth, Lexa has to almost physically stop herself from giving in and leaving with Clarke right that second. “I have a duty to them, Clarke. I’m one of the hosts of this party, I can’t just leave halfway through it.”

Clarke whines and touches her lips to the spot where Lexa’s shoulder meets her neck, “Then you’re gonna have to stop saying my name like that.”

The sentence startles Lexa into a soft laughter, dipping her head to whisper in Clarke’s ear, “And how am I saying it?”

Lexa feels Clarke shivering slightly under her touch - she can’t quite remember how both her hands ended up circling the blonde’s waist - and smiles as she whines again, the vibration finding its way to Lexa’s skin, “The thing you do with your throat when you say the end.” Laughter bubbles again in Lexa’s chest, but she manages to merely smirk. She can’t remember the last time she felt so carefree - she hadn’t had nearly as much alcohol needed to feel like she was flying. Clarke seals their lips together for a moment, before taking two big steps back, “Okay, you go talk to people over there and I’ll talk to people over here. Keep your gorgeous ass away from my sight.”

Lexa does walk away to find someone she remembers from the last holiday party - it’s a balding guy she can’t quite remember the name, who’s always very excited about taxes - but she does so making sure her hips go from one side to the other with a nice flow. She doesn’t have to look back to know Clarke is staring.

The hours crawl. 

Lexa decides to stay away from alcohol, switching to water to keep herself focused on lawsuits and what new bill the congress wants to pass and how much someone’s granddaughter has grown in a year. But Clarke is in the back of her mind all along. 

If she thinks objectively, Lexa  _ knows _ Clarke is simply playing a part - she’s paying her a significant sum to play that part well. It’s Clarke’s job to make her clients feel good, much like it’s Lexa’s job to help her clients no matter what legal issues they got themselves into, regardless of whether or not she agrees with them. Clarke is simply doing her job, Lexa repeats to herself when the blonde waves at her from across the room,  _ she is just doing her job _ .

Midnight comes and the guests slowly flock out, wishing their goodbyes and happy holidays one by one, until the only people in the room are Lexa, Clarke, Anya and the waiting staff, preparing to pack everything away.

Lexa is sleepy, the long gone alcohol buzz leaving behind a tiredness that can barely fight with open eyes, and Clarke’s fingers tangled in her half undone hair, massaging her skull, is only sending her closer to Morpheus. The blonde leans in, kissing the corner of her lips before whispering if she wants to leave.

Anya chooses that moment to flop on the chair across from them, making a face at the scene. “You guys are gross,” she runs her hands through her blonde hair, messing her updo completely, “Could you two leave? My girlfriend won’t get here until after Christmas, I can’t handle-” she makes a gesture to their general direction, “-this.”

“We really should leave,” Lexa says as she gets up, barely concealing a yawn, “I have a 8am call to deal with tomorrow, thanks to your little protegé” Anya dismisses her with a wave, too tired to put up a fight, and Clarke is beside her in a moment, taking her fingers in between hers as they walk to get their coat.

The drive back is silent - and surprisingly short, Lexa notices. 

She closes her eyes against the city lights for merely a second and next thing the sees is Clarke opening her door for her. She blinks, confused, at the hand being offered to her before taking it and letting Clarke guide her to the hotel. The wind wakes her up pretty fast and only then Lexa realizes - she fell asleep. She doesn’t fall asleep anywhere but her bed, that’s just not who she is. She certainly doesn’t fall asleep in a  _ car _ beside a virtual stranger on their way back from a party when it’s barely past midnight. Lexa doesn’t do naps.

Clarke rubs circles on her lower back as they get inside, the warm gush of air feeling like a hug. Lexa is more alert now, her heavy eyes taking in the empty lobby and refusing to look at Clarke. “Did you get any rest?”

So, she noticed.

“I-” Lexa starts, then clears her throat. What kind of nap was it that left her feeling like she slept a full eight hours? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Clarke smiles as the elevator doors open for them to climb inside, “You looked adorable. I almost didn’t want to wake you up, but you’ll be better off sleeping on your bed.” Lexa grunts because it feels so ridiculous - both for her to have fallen asleep and for Clarke to take her to bed, only for the sake of her having a more comfortable sleep. Lexa is about to tell Clarke she really doesn’t have to walk her to her room when the blonde press her floor and says in the lowest voice, “You won’t be sleeping anytime soon, though.”

It doesn’t take her long to understand Clarke’s intentions, made more obvious by the hand slipping from the small of her back to the swell of her behind. 

Suddenly, Lexa can swear she has never been more awake.

They walk inside the penthouse, shedding their coats and tossing them over off furniture, both caring little about where they landed. Clarke leans against the wall and pulls Lexa flush against her, who can’t do much through the sudden lusty haze that filled her insides but palm the wall for balance. 

They’re close, their breaths mix together and god,  _ god _ , why didn’t they leave that party before again?

As Lexa leans in to close the distance between them, Clarke puts her fingers on her jawline, tracing the bone and effectively stopping her movement, “So…  _ Commander _ ...” Lexa goes cold at hearing the nickname. Clarke’s husky voice makes it sound dirty in the best of ways, but it still reminds Lexa of rumors that spread like wildfire and office gossip she couldn’t help but hear. “Want to boss  _ me _ around tonight?”

Clarke trails her fingers down, tracing her jaw, collarbone, diving into the neckline of her dress, but Lexa’s hand falls to her side, “Where did you hear that?” Her voice is cold and Clarke looks up, without ever stopping the roaming of her fingers.

“Someone behind me said ‘ _ the Commander strikes again _ ’ when you were talking to the intern,” Clarke’s voice is low and hoarse, as if they had been having sex for hours already, her fingers go back up, trailing the path upwards and finding their home at the dip of Lexa’s throat, “It didn’t help with how much I wanted to  _ fuck _ you right there and then.” Lexa swallows hard at the phrasing, knowing Clarke could not only see but feel it, letting her hands find Clarke’s waist again, gripping hard, “ _ Commander _ . It fits you, you demand attention wherever you go,” Clarke’s voice is softer, still low, and she makes the distance between them smaller, their eyes never leaving each other, “And you didn’t answer me.” Lexa is pretty sure she isn’t even listening to Clarke anymore, but the blonde digs her nails on her waist, calling her attention and forcing Lexa to sharpen her gaze, “Do you want to be the boss of me - to tell me what to do, how to do it,  _ when to do it _ ?” Lexa takes a raggedy breath, pulling at the blonde’s waist until their hips knock, “Say the word, Commander. And I’m yours to do as you please.”

Lexa groans as she closes her mouth on Clarke’s, teeth colliding with the sheer force of the kiss, before reaching for the back of her thighs and lifting her from the ground. Lexa breaks the kiss only enough to know where she’s going - to the loveseat in the middle of the living room, she doesn’t have the self control to get them to the bedroom -, and Clarke wastes no time in sucking on her pulse point, her heels hooked around Lexa’s waist.

Lexa lets her fall to her feet in front of the loveseat and manages to take a steadying breath - the mere  _ idea _ of power play gave her goosebumps and seeing Clarke standing there, bee stung mouth and willing, sends whatever had remained from her stoicism flying through the window.

Between orders whispered in a bossy yet barely contained voice -  _ take your dress off. now your underwear. don’t touch mine, I’ll take it off myself. turn around and kneel on the couch. now lean forward, yes, on your hands. -  _ and Clarke surrendering herself to her, following every single instruction she was given, Lexa could come from watching Clarke move alone.

Trailing her fingers across the pale expanse of her back until they find their home at the nape of her back, Lexa watches Clarke squirm under her touch, shivering with every touch that is just not enough, leaving the brunette to bask in the novelty that is being the one in control for once. The moan Clarke lets out when Lexa sinks her fingers into her center is filthy - she’s thrusting into her from behind, a position she isn’t familiar with, at an angle she isn’t sure of, rocking her hips as she goes in and out, adding force to the motion - and Lexa can swear she’s never seen a more beautiful sight.

Refusing to stop until Clarke is shaking, so much pleasure coursing through her body she can’t hold herself up anymore, Lexa has inkling that, before their endeavour is over, she won’t be able to look to any piece of furniture in that hotel room without remembering Clarke’s screams as she comes.

And she’s more than fine with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less filth this time, but I promise to make up for it next chapter.
> 
> I think I can keep this up, a chapter a week - so look out for updates on weekends! I absolutely loved hearing what you thought of the first chapter, I hope you guys enjoyed this one as well.


	3. december, 22nd | part i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, things go downhill. There’s a description of panic attack near the end, so be careful if that's something of a trigger for you.

**_DECEMBER 22ND_ **

Feet tucked under her legs, Lexa lets her left hand play with the soft rug underneath her as she nibbles on the cap of her pen - red ink, to contrast with her previous annotations in blue -, slumping forward in such an arch that would have her mother screaming “ _ posture! _ ”. 

The Abernathy case litters the coffee table, but she can’t focus. Her 8am call had gone on for longer than she expected as her clients had been thoroughly afraid of yet another lawsuit, throwing her plans of having a half day at the new firm through the window - Lexa made a mental note to turn that intern’s life into an unmasked hell.

She can’t focus on boring unfounded accusations when her mind is filled with images of Clarke waving her hips against fingers, her back arching as a moan draws out, sweat beading in the small of her back as yet another orgasm coursed through her body. That damn loveseat has joined the armchair on Lexa’s list of “places she couldn’t work on without getting uncomfortably aroused”. And that’s how she found herself sitting on the floor, trading her pencil skirt and jacket for leggings and an oversized tank top, so she could pretend to work while finding herself staring at the loveseat for the tenth time in as many minutes. 

Sipping the last of her water, she tosses her pen amidst the sea of paper and leans back on her hands as she moves her head from one side to another, trying to get it to crack so she can release some tension. When it does crack, loud and agonizing, she lets a soft moan out - she’s clearly tense and  _ god _ , she knows why, but she refuses to act on it or admit how much it affects her.

Her eyes turn to her watch - she still has some hours to kill before going over to Lincoln’s - and she runs her options over in her mind. She  _ could _ shower and work on herself until she could breathe without aching, but that would mean admitting, and she isn’t about to do that. Her eyes fall on the thick Tolstoy novel that lies untouched for days, but the mere thought makes her head pound. 

When she’s deciding between hitting the hotel gym and ordering a ridiculous amount of sugary cereal, her phone rings - her hotel phone. With a look at her cellphone to make sure she doesn’t have any missed calls, Lexa jumps to her feet and picks up the call.

Before she can even say ‘hello’, the person on the other side of the line says, in lieu of a greeting, “Are you busy?”

She things recognizes the voice, although she can tell the call is happening from a street, if the whistling wind and traffic noises are anything to go by, “Clarke?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Clarke answers, her voice heavy as if she’s running somewhere. “Are you busy?”

“No, I’m free,” Lexa doesn’t even pretend she’s getting any work done, suddenly worried about what Clarke’s call might mean. They haven’t exchanged phone numbers, it didn’t seem necessary, once they agreed on every detail until the end of their agreement, and it didn’t seem like Clarke to call the hotel room unless it was something important, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” The outside noise coming through the receiver stops so suddenly that Lexa wonders if the call got cut short - and her brain floods with the most awful images “C-Clarke?”

Panting sounds are everything Lexa hears for a few moments before Clarke finally finds her voice, “Hey, no, everything is okay. I just wanted to make sure you were home.” Lexa finds herself nibbling on her lower lip, waiting for Clarke to give her more details on the reason of her call, “Open your door.”

It takes Lexa by surprise, “ _ What _ ?”

“I’m outside,” it’s all Clarke says before she ends the call, the annoying disconnected line noise making Lexa grit her teeth.

Lexa isn’t fond of surprises - that’s precisely  _ why _ she has enough planners to organize a small army’s life. Dropping the phone back on its base, Lexa stands as tall as she can when she’s barefoot - there’s no time to slip into her pumps, which wouldn’t go with her current outfit anyway. She walks to the door and swings it open to reveal a breathless Clarke, that walks inside before being invited in.

“ _ Damn stairs _ ,” Clarke huffs before holding Lexa’s chin to seal their lips together, taking the brunette by surprise for the second time in less than two minutes, “I thought of calling ahead, but I wanted to see-” a smirk forms in her lips, blue eyes glinting in childlike joy “- _ that _ face.”

Lexa is frowning, her lips pouting slightly as she tries to figure out what exactly Clarke is doing there, “We don’t have to be at my brother’s for another three hours,” she says matter-of-factly, clasping her hands in front of her like she’s so used to.

“I know.” Clarke replies in a chirpy voice, her smile widening and annoying Lexa to no end. She can almost feel Clarke’s gaze burning her skin as the blonde takes her in, licking her lips before continuing, “You didn’t get off yesterday. I thought you could be more relaxed at lunch if you did.”

“How thoughtful,” Lexa says flatly, blinking slowly as if to show boredom, “I can go one day without sex, Clarke, there’s no need to worry.” Clarke has a point, but Lexa is nowhere near admitting she was thinking about touching herself in the shower not even five minutes ago.

“But I brought us something,” Clarke singsongs as she extends a nondescriptive black bag for Lexa to peek in, who leans curiously and quickly searches the tissue paper only to find a bright purple- she couldn’t place the name. It was certainly a sex toy, something resembling a dildo but with odd parts she wasn’t familiar with, “I thought we could try something new.”

“We hardly need a toy, Clarke,” Lexa dismisses her wild thoughts about what those odd parts could mean, and watches more relieved than she should  as the blonde tosses the bag on the coffee table.

“I know,  _ god _ , your fingers alone...” she trails off and Lexa feels her face heating up, but can’t help feeling a little proud of herself when images from Clarke all but begging for her to stop because she couldn’t take anymore floods her mind, “But the offer stands if you want it later.”

Before she can assure Clarke she does not want to try whatever the hell that is, the blonde’s lips are on hers. Like muscle memory, Lexa finds her lips melting into Clarke’s as her hands reach up to tangle in her hair, Clarke’s finding the spot under her ribs she’s become so fond of. The kiss deepens, gets harder and more urgent, gets soft again, chaste almost, and Lexa’s legs are shaky within a shamefully short timeframe.

She reaches for Clarke’s coat, pushing it away from her shoulders in a clumsy movement that has the blonde laughing softly against Lexa’s lips. They break the kiss only long enough for the coat to be thrown to the floor and they’re on each other again, Lexa gripping Clarke’s neck to bring her impossibly close as Clarke reaches for her shirt, snaking her fingers against the taut stomach-

“Jesus Christ, are you  _ dead _ , Clarke?” Lexa jumps back when Clarke’s hands touch her skin, laughter bubbling in her chest before she can help it. “Your hands are freezing.” She explains further, shaking her head at her previous phrasing. In the warmth of the hotel room, powered by a very trusty heater, Clarke’s hands felt like ice cubes.

“I forgot to get my gloves,” Clarke says in an apologetic tone, rubbing her hands together to get some heat back in them. 

Lexa covers her hands with hers, learning in to kiss her briefly, “Let’s go to the bedroom, you can warm up there.” It was odd, even to herself, how comfortable she was with kissing and touching when it came to Clarke, how she could go from being annoyed at a sudden visit to looking forward to cuddling under the covers in two minutes flat. Lexa lets her hands fall and intertwines their fingers loosely as she tugs Clarke, who quirks an eyebrow, towards the bedroom.

“Trying to get me to bed, huh?” Clarke teases, keeping one hand on Lexa’s as she enlaces her waist with the other arm, following the brunette towards the open double doors, “I’ll have you know I am a proper lady, who will not be charmed by your sultry voice and ridiculously green eyes.” Lexa barely has time to roll her eyes before Clarke shoves her ice cold hands back under her shirt, half heartedly tickling her as they stumble forward.

“Oh my  _ god! _ ” Lexa squeals in the middle of a laugh, trying to squirm away from Clarke who only grips harder onto her, both her hands now splayed against the tanned skin, “Clarke,  _ let go _ .” 

As she topples forward, cold hands finding their way to her back, Lexa can hear Clarke’s laughter behind her -  _ of course  _ she’d find this amusing. It sounds like music to her ears and for the first time since they started this - those many months ago on Lexa’s end, at least - she allows herself to not be scared to death of this feeling.

She’ll enjoy it while it lasts, and let go when it’s time.

Clarke spins Lexa just in time for her to fall seated on the edge of her bed instead of tumbling face first into the mattress. She sits quietly, her laughter dying in her throat as she stares intently at Clarke’s eyes as the blonde reaches for her shirt, sliding it off her arms with ease.

Lexa closes her eyes as Clarke’s hands find their home at the nape of her neck, “Your hands are warmer,” she doesn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper, but lets her hands find Clarke’s waist nonetheless.

“I stole all your heat,” Clarke’s tone is just as soft when she leans down for a kiss. Lexa lets her kiss her however she likes as she works the zipper on her midi red skirt - it’s a beautiful piece and she’s sure to comment on it afterwards, but right now she wants it on the floor.

Breaking the kiss as the skirt falls to the floor, Lexa answers against Clarke’s lips, her voice lower than a moment ago, “I think I still have some to give.”

Clarke inhales deeply as Lexa pulls her for another kiss, standing up only long enough for her leggings to join Clarke’s skirt. Between bumping noses and clashing teeth in their urge to not break their kiss, both women find themselves lying down - Lexa sliding the offending shirt from Clarke and tossing it away, letting her legs come up as the blonde pulls down on her panties.

They break apart for a few seconds as they hurriedly get rid of their last pieces - Clarke’s panties end up hanging from the lampshade on the nightstand and Lexa’s bra find its home under the bed when she can’t fight her desire to cup Clarke’s newly exposed breasts. It’s not a choreographed slow dance, it’s more bodily than that - it’s legs wrapping around waist and teeth sinking into flesh only to drag a moan out of the other woman.

At Lexa’s urging, Clarke moves up, supporting her weight on her hands as she lets her breasts hover above Lexa’s face. She’s neglected them for far too long, Lexa thinks as she takes a hardened nipple in between her teeth, applying little pressure before splaying her tongue on the pebbled skin. Her mouth widening to enclosure more skin as her hand cups its twin, her free arm wrapped around Clarke’s torso, legs around her waist, effectively pinning Clarke in place. However, it doesn’t stop her from grinding on Lexa’s stomach.

Letting her nipple go with a pop, Lexa smiles at the reddened skin - Clarke might have a bruise on the lower side of her breast, but she can’t find it within her to be sorry - and kisses her way up her neck, adjusting their positions once more until Clarke is settled in between her open legs, one hand on her wild curls, the other trailing down her stomach. Lexa wants to stop her, make this last, but as Clarke slides one finger within her, all she’s capable of is pulling the blonde for a kiss.

“You’re so  _ fucking  _ wet,” Clarke moans against her lips and  _ god, _ Lexa knows she is embarrassingly aroused - has been since yesterday, since the day she fucking met Clarke. She doesn’t trust herself to find an answer that won’t come out as a plea, so Lexa locks their lips together again, waving her hips trying to find a friction that won’t happen with a single digit, despite Clarke’s steady pumping, “Do you want to try the toy out?” Clarke stops her barely there movements, sliding her finger out to drag around Lexa’s folds. She grits her teeth against the sensation, knitting her brows in concentration to  _ not _ moan, not plead, not take matters into her own hands because Clarke decided this is a good moment to talk, “I promise you it feels good.”

All it takes Lexa is Clarke pressing a kiss on the underside of her jaw to have her breathing out a “Okay” before she finds herself cold and alone in bed. She opens her eyes just in time to see Clarke tiptoeing away from the bedroom to retrieve the bag containing said toy from the living room, her round behind moving beautifully as the walks. 

Lexa sits up, folding her feet underneath herself to keep her nakedness at some decency level - which is futile and hardly necessary, since Clarke is as bare as she is and striding proudly back to bed.

The toy falls from the bag with a dull thud, along with some leather straps Lexa chooses to believe it’s for something else entirely. She takes it on her hand, the shade of purple nearing ridiculous for something that is supposed to go inside of her, and stares at it for a long while.

Deciding there’s no shame in innocence, she asks coyly, “What… exactly is this, um, toy?”

Clarke smiles at her, like she’s the most adorable bunny in a forest, and tucks herself beside Lexa, “It’s a strapless strap-on. But I like to use the straps, they give me an extra support for thrusting.  _ This- _ ” she trails the pad of her index finger across the rigged, bulb shaped odd part that had surprised Lexa earlier, “-goes inside me, and this-” she keeps sliding her finger until the meets Lexa’s hand, that is holding the far end, “-goes inside you.”

Lexa swallows hard past the sudden lump in her throat, that feels impossibly tight - she’d consider an allergic reaction to something if it wasn’t for the arousal pooling in between her thighs. Handing the strap-on over for Clarke to maneuver with a single nod of assurance, Lexa watches in awe as the blonde gets to her knees and sinks her hand on her dark curls, leaning on her shoulder for support.

“I want you to watch it,” her voice is husky and tempting, so Lexa obeys and looks down, watching as the bulb disappears within Clarke’s folds. She catches the blonde as she falls forward, a moan leaving her throat and being followed by a soft laugh, her eyes closed, “Come on, lie down.”

After making sure Clarke is okay - she is okay, the toy feels good within her, there’s nothing else to it -, Lexa falls back onto the mattress, her hair spilling over the pillows. She tries not to focus on how  _ drenched _ she is, how ready she is for Clarke for fuck her senseless, focusing instead on Clarke putting the straps in place, behind her thigh and on her waist, securing the strap-on to her.

Lexa lets a huff of air out of her lips that could have been a laugh is she wasn’t so damn turned on by the sight in front of her - the bright purple contrasts wildly with the pale skin of Clarke’s pelvis, and watching it nestle in between her folds makes Lexa want to rub her legs together, to get  _ something _ going for her.

Before Lexa can snake her hand down her body, Clarke is moving on top of her, spreading her legs wide as she gets in between them, pressing her body against Lexa’s, and effectively slipping the phallus in between her folds, the movement of her hips causing it to slip up and down against the slick skin.

Lexa arches her back at the sensation, pulling Clarke down for a kiss. The desperation for release shows in their kiss, all teeth and tongue, like Lexa can’t get enough of the blonde’s taste or the soft friction in the apex of her thighs. Clarke is the one that slows down the kiss, taking Lexa’s tongue in between her lips and sucking at it lightly before turning the kiss almost chaste.

“Are you ready?” Clarke whispers against her lips, giving her another peck as she slides her hands down her torso, scraping her nails lightly against the side of her breast, “Can I go inside?”

Nodding feverishly, Lexa pulls Clarke for another urgent kiss as the blonde reaches in between their thighs, touching a button on the toy before positioning it on Lexa’s entrance. She feels the buzzing and her eyes snap open -  _ it vibrates _ \- only to shut down as Clarke slides the length of it inside.

It takes Lexa a moment to adjust to the stretching, a foreign burning feeling coursing through her body, and relaxes into the feeling of being filled. She opens her eyes and finds Clarke staring at her, waiting for her to give some signal to her as she leans on her elbows, their faces inches away. Clarke must see something in the green eyes that calms her as she leans further down to pepper kisses on every inch of exposed skin.

Reaching for her waist, Lexa urges her to move. It’s tentative at first, Lexa’s knitted brow giving away how strange the sensation is for her. It feels different than what she’s used to, but the soft skin under her fingertips as she traces patterns on Clarke’s back is familiar and comfortable, and the little puffs of air Clarke lets out against her jaw with every thrust makes any oddness go forgotten.

Soon, Clarke picks up her pace, every thrust becoming shallower and faster, hitting places Lexa isn’t sure how to feel about. She tilts her hips, angling them differently and it feels better, still odd, but better - but god,  _ god _ , she could die from Clarke’s noises alone. The blonde buries her face on the curve of Lexa’s neck, nibbling the skin lightly between a thrust and another, every senseless whisper and soft moan traveling straight to Lexa’s spine.

It doesn’t take long before she needs a break.

A sharp feeling, not exactly unpleasant, shoots up her abdomen and Lexa goes rigid for a moment. “Slower,” she whispers against the blonde mane clouding her vision, tugging at Clarke’s waist once more, “I need- slower.”

Clarke withdraws completely from her and leans on her hands, looking at Lexa through heavy lidded eyes. Lexa can see her arms shaking slightly, can see the worry in her eyes, “Have you done this before? With a strap-on?”

Lexa shakes her head, mortified for some reason unknown even to her. “No,” she says in a tiny voice, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ears, mostly because she isn’t sure what to do with her hands.

“Okay,” Clarke nods and positions herself in her entrance once more, “Okay, we’ll do this slowly.” Their lips meet in a deep kiss, tongue sliding against tongue with no hurry, in the same rhythm as Clarke slides within Lexa, inch by inch, until their skin is touching everywhere, “Wrap your legs around my waist, see if it feels better.”

Obeying blindly, Lexa hooks her ankles together at the small of Clarke’s back, her hands tangled in blonde hair. When Clarke thrusts again, deeply and slowly this time, Lexa lets out a moan - now it feels  _ good _ , not only tolerable. With every thrust, Clarke angles her hips differently, searching for reactions that spill like an overflowing sink from Lexa - she moans and grunts, tugs at Clarke’s hips when the position is  _ just right _ , scrapes her nails against the pale skin, sucks at her pulse point, words without any meaning falling from Lexa’s lips until all she can do is repeat, “ _ faster, faster, faster” _ like a mantra.

Then, Clarke stops.

And withdraws.

Lexa grunts in frustration. She’s flustered, breathing shamefully heavy and, now, feeling cold from the lack of warm skin against her own. Leaning on her elbows and trying to ignore the ache in between her thighs, Lexa stares down at Clarke, who can only let out a breathy laughter as she straightens up and falls seated on her ankles. It helps that she’s just as breathless as Lexa is, but she thoroughly ignores green eyes boring a hole into her, daring her to move an inch that is not in her direction.

Giving Lexa a soft kiss before moving around in bed, Clarke lies down beside Lexa, making herself comfortable against the pillows. Lexa can’t help but follow the strap-on nestled in between Clarke’s legs, coated with her wetness, biting her lip. She’s about to complain, to ask  _ what the fuck do you think you’re doing _ , when Clarke pulls her into a bruising kiss.

Following nudges and silent instructions, Lexa straddles Clarke’s waist, letting the phallus find its home in between her folds. When it touches her clit in this new position, her arms buckle and she falls flat on top of Clarke, who pulls her hair to one side so she can whisper little requests on Lexa’s ears.

“Can you take it like this?” Clarke says and Lexa can’t do much except nod into the curve of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of Clarke’s shampoo as she readies herself to do what she’s being asked, “Go easy, don’t even get up, just sink into it.” Lexa follow her words, waiting for Clarke to position the toy against her entrance before backing into it. She leans on her elbows, hovering above just far enough so Clarke could see her face - by now she knows this is something Clarke liked, watching her as she tries new things. As she sinks in, it fills her in unexpected ways, stretching her walls beyond what she’s used to. It’s a new sensation, and she’s so goddamn turned on it can’t be anything but pleasant. “Can you move?” Clarke’s breath hits her cheek and Lexa realizes Clarke must be needing release as much as she is. She nods, once, earning a low groan from Clarke, “Move, gorgeous.”

It’s tentative at first, much like Clarke’s first thrusts. Lexa leans on her hands, furrowing her brows as she lets the toy slide out almost all the way before sinking back into it. It doesn’t do much for her, not the same way it was doing when she was on her back, but the feeling is nice. Lexa touches her lips to Clarke’s jaw as she tries to pick up a pace, but falls short after a few tries, falling back to her elbows and grunting in frustration.

“Don’t take it all out, just-” Clarke holds her hips down and  _ god _ , she can feel herself stretching every way possible and if she stays just like that, with a little pressure on her clit, she’s a goner. “Wave your hips, like this,” and she shows Lexa just what to do, tilting her hip forward as she slides slightly off the shaft and drawing it back when she sinks into it.

Lexa is nothing if not a fast learner, and she bats Clarke’s hands away as she picks up a rhythm that has both of them moaning into each other’s mouths, leaving them free to roam her body as her hips wave in a frenzy. Clarke touches her  _ everywhere _ \- gripping her breasts, pulling down on her shoulders, kissing her jaw and neck and shoulder.

“ _ Oh! _ ” Lexa screams in surprise, straightening her back as she takes in the new sensation. It’s different but oh,  _ oh _ , it feels so damn good. She palms Clarke’s stomach for balance, moving her hips faster and harder, closing her eyes in pure pleasure.

Clarke reaches for her waist, helping Lexa come down harder, pulling her towards the mattress and herself at the same time, “You hit the spot, didn’t you?” Her voice is hoarse and it cracks on the edge. Lexa looks at Clarke and  _ Jesus _ \- each waving of her hips has Clarke’s breasts bouncing beautifully, which renews Lexa energy to drag each thrust further, earning new high pitched moans from Clarke, that reaches for every inch of her skin, “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

Her legs ache with the strain and Lexa finds her need pooling in the small of her back, following her spine, instead of the usual hot spot in between her legs. She feels hot all over, Clarke’s noises falling on her like lava, and she grabs her curls in a bunch, holding it above her neck as she rides the toy, guiding herself by whatever nonsense Clarke is nearly screaming at her.

Through hooded eyes, Lexa watches with ever growing lust as Clarke goes slack jawed, her back arching as obscenely as the moan she lets out. The sight is priceless. Lexa could watch Clarke come over and over again and never get tired of it. Clarke sinks her nails into Lexa’s side, pleading for a break in between whimpering and heavy breathing. 

Lexa slows her thrusting down to a mere twitching of her hips, waiting for Clarke to recover. She’s breathtaking, even flushed and almost wheezing for breath, her blonde hair stuck on her forehead. Lexa reaches for her, leaning down to kiss her in a lazy soft kiss that is about a thousand times less than what she needs - but Clarke’s hips shudders against her at the change of position, jutting upwards at the slightest of movements.

As much as she wants to say this is enough, she will not be able to move from this bed if she doesn’t come, and  _ soon _ .

Clarke seems to feel her impatience, and urges her to move once more. “I’m okay, go on. I wanna see you come while riding me,” Clarke’s voice is husky, almost scratchy from all the screaming, and it turns Lexa on even more - something she didn’t even think it was  _ possible _ . She picks up her pace with ease, the phallus sliding in and out of her like she’s a pro. “Can you come like this?”

No, she can’t. She could, if she had all day long to grind and find that sweet spot over and over again. But she needs release and she needs it fast. Lexa shakes her head, “I- it’s not enou- _ ah, _ ” she falls on her hands, eyes screwed shut as Clarke’s thumb finds her clit, circling it with the slightest pressure. 

What seemed like not enough turns into too much within a second.

Lexa feels her walls pulsing around the toy before her orgasm hits her senses, turning her into a shuddering mess as she tries to ride it down. She falls on her elbows, barely keeping her full weight above Clarke, who keeps her thumb making tight circles around her bundle of nerves. Her back feels like it’s gonna snap in half, her lungs collapse and her legs never work again - until Clarke stops her movements with a single flick, tugging Lexa down and enlacing her waist. Then, she’s boneless.

It feels like hours have passed before Lexa has the strength to peel herself from Clarke, kissing the blonde lazily as she lifts her hips, finally letting the strap-on fall from her. They both whimper at the movement, their slick skin too sensitive to handle much. 

Lexa rolls over, lacking all the elegance of her usual self in order to fall into a heap beside Clarke. She closes her eyes,  _ exhausted _ . She isn’t really used to moving that much during sex - truthfully, she hasn’t exactly been having sex at all in the last seven years, but even in her memories, she used to move way less. Her thighs ache and there’s a burning sensation in her lower abdomen she isn’t sure what to make of. 

She’s sleepy.

A dull thud makes her open her eyes. She assumes it’s Clarke tossing the strap-on to the floor, because soon the blonde is scooting over to her, an arm reaching for her waist as she lies on the pillow beside her.

“Wanna take a nap? We’ve got time until we need to leave,” Clarke herself sounds sluggish, mumbling the words against the fabric of the hotel’s pillowcase rather than actually speaking.

Lexa turns on her side, slipping her hands under her pillow as she faces away from Clarke, unconsciously drawing herself closer to the blonde. “I don’t nap.” Her sleepy voice doesn’t even convince herself, but she lets herself believe that Clarke will buy it. She won’t nap, it’s not like her to nap - she just needs to close her eyes for one moment.

Clarke trails the pads of her fingers up and down Lexa’s back, in odd patterns. “I didn’t know you had tattoos,” she says in a worn out voice, “How come I didn’t know you had a tattoo that goes from your neck to your waist? I should’ve seen this before.”

Smiling into her pillow, Lexa wonders the same. Maybe they were too caught up on each other every time they had sex to notice the fine nuances of the other’s body. Her tattoo isn’t exactly discreet, but the lines are fine enough that touch wouldn’t give it away. “I guess we’ve never done it from behind,” she spills the first words that comes to mind, blaming Clarke already for being the sole bad influence that makes her say dirty things, “Well, you’ve never done  _ me _ from behind.”

“There’ll be a time for that,” Clarke teasing sounds like a promise as she melts herself to Lexa’s back, wrapping an arm around her waist, their legs intertwining together.

She won’t fall asleep, Lexa tells herself as she sinks into Clarke’s warmth, she’ll just rest.

Batting her eyes open, it takes Lexa a second to place herself - she fell asleep,  _ of course she fell asleep _ . Straining to focus on what’s apparently half an inch away from her face, Lexa realizes that not only she napped while cuddling Clarke, but the blonde is the one waking her up.

“Hey, we should start getting ready,” Clarke’s voice is barely a whisper, her hand coming up to brush Lexa’s hair away from her face in a delicate gesture, “Remember, we have Linc?”

“Yeah,” her voice is filled with sleep but she smiles nonetheless at the nickname. It’s so incredibly easy to pretend this is all real when Clarke pulls at her hands to sit her up, laughing as she stumbles with the movement, “You’re ready?”

Lexa brushes her hair with her fingers - it’s a tangled mess and she’s hardly surprised - as she takes Clarke in. She’s dressed in her red skirt that clads her hips beautifully and a shirt tucked into the waist - if it’s slightly crumpled from being tossed to the floor, it fits the look -, her hair falling to her shoulder in a fishtail braid.

Clarke merely nods as Lexa gets up, shockingly aware of her own nakedness but she can’t find it within her to be ashamed, “You look beautiful when you sleep.”

The compliment takes Lexa aback and she loses herself in Clarke’s eyes for a moment - she could believe this, she could lean in and kiss Clarke and say that she too looks beautiful, asleep or awake. But she refrains herself to a smile, excusing herself to go shower.

She watches as Clarke moves to the couch, sitting comfortably in the loveseat Lexa has come to dread. Shaking her head as she looks back at the crumpled sheets on her bed, Lexa wonders if she’ll have to change rooms to get anything done in the next few days.

Her hair stays up as she showers, her hands slowly touching sore patches of skin - her thighs ache deliciously but she can’t for the life of her remember why there’s a bite mark on her rib. Lexa lets her mind wander as she tries to tame her hair and changes into leather pants that she  _ knows _ makes her ass look good - and for the first time in six, seven years, her mind doesn’t go to somewhere dark.

Lincoln will like Clarke, she thinks. He’s always been fond of free spirits - reason why he fell in love with Octavia in the first place - and Clarke definitely has wings on her soul. She knows Clarke will like him. It feels silly, even for her, to want her brother and someone she’s paying to pretend to be in a relationship with to get along - she has to constantly remind herself nothing of this is real, but can feel herself falling deep into the lie. 

If anything, Linc will  _ definitely _ be easier than Anya.

Lexa leaves the bedroom less than half an hour later to find Clarke with her knees drawn to her chest, Tolstoy open on her thighs as her eyes graze the words in rapid speed - or as fast as someone can, when it comes to late 1800’s Russian literature. The blonde is completely immersed in the story, nibbling on her thumb as she turns the page.

Her shoes make enough noise that clearing her throat is unnecessary, but somehow she startles Clarke nonetheless, “Should we go?”

“Yeah, I-” Clarke jumps slightly, scrambling with the thick volume and placing it precariously on the edge of the side table, before turning to Lexa, “ _ Wow _ . You look damn good in all that leather, Commander Punk Rock.”

Lexa dips her head and smiles, feeling her cheeks burning. She doesn’t dislike the praise, it’s not even that she wasn’t expecting it - she chose those pants for a reason - but the way Clarke’s hungry eyes bore a hole into her makes her imagine things she really shouldn’t be thinking about when they’re on their way to her brother’s.

If Clarke helps Lexa into her coat and keeps her hand a little too close to the swell of the leather as they walk to the car, Lexa doesn’t mention it.

The drive feels…  _ comfortable _ .

As Clarke inputs the address on the GPS and turns the radio on, Lexa feels more comfortable lying against the leather seat than she did on her college road trips with Anya. Lexa browses the stations to find something she likes, at Clarke’s requests, and it warms her heart when the blonde starts humming the song playing in the station she picked.

The little sounds Clarke lets out as she half sings and half dances to the tune are too precious for Lexa to even worry about how unprepared they are for their meeting with Lincoln.

Lincoln and Octavia’s apartment building is only a short drive away from Lexa’s hotel - that’s one of the reasons she picked this hotel, she didn’t want to spend the entire holidays without seeing her brother. In a few minutes, they’re being buzzed in and climbing the stairs, Lexa holding her laugh at how much Clarke’s struggling when they reach the second floor.

By the time they get to the fourth floor, Clarke’s breathing through her mouth and making a face, sticking out her tongue as Lexa laughs.

“I hate stairs. So much,” Clarke whines and Lexa gives her a tiny smile as she raps her knuckles on the door, before lacing their fingers together, keeping her close as they wait for someone to come, “I want to kiss you,” Clarke’s voice is less than a whisper, like kissing is something forbidden for them.

It might as well be, with the fire in Clarke’s eyes

Lexa breathes her in, forgetting they’re in the middle of a hallway as she leans in, “Then kiss me.” 

“They’ll open the door at any second,” Clarke widens her eyes towards the door for half a moment, as if to check it’s still closed, before turning to Lexa. She tugs at their intertwined fingers and sets her hand on Lexa’s rib, who’s so very quick to give in.

“I don’t  _ care _ .”

Lexa is the one to close the last of the distance between them, enclosing her lips around Clarke’s in an almost chaste kiss - lips moving against lips and nothing more. They don’t even realize the door swings open as Lexa reaches for Clarke’s cheek.

“You’re not even inside and I already won a bet,  _ sweet _ .” Octavia merely shrugs and turns to walk inside, leaving the door open for them to follow as she yells, “Linc, they’re already being gross, I want my five bucks!”

It takes them a second to realize they’ve been caught, and they both dutifully turn scarlet red. Lexa steps inside first, never letting go from Clarke’s hand, as if it’s a lifeline they both need, and they hear a deeper voice coming from somewhere inside the apartment grumbling, “ _ God damn it. _ ”

That’s Lincoln - betting against his wife on her sister.

“I told you Lexa sounded way too sappy,” Octavia keeps talking to her husband, waving both women inside as she makes her way through the hall, “Now come see your sister, she’s  _ glowing _ .”

“It’s nice to see you, Octavia.” Lexa says, sincerely if a little mortified. She pats herself in the back because, well, she’s a good pretender if she can convince Octavia that she’s in love with Clarke. Octavia seems to suddenly remember she hasn’t said a proper hello and turns to give Lexa a hug, who reluctantly lets go of Clarke’s hand to hug her sister-in-law back.

“ _ Heda!” _ Lincoln shouts and Octavia lets go of Lexa, laughing as the mass of a man engulfs his sister in a bear hug, lifting her from the ground. Lexa hugs him tight, her hands barely meeting as she enlaces his broad shoulders, wiggling her feet in the air a little until he puts her back on the floor. The nickname warms her in a way she had forgotten - it feels nice to have her brother grounding her amidst the mess she had gotten herself into.

Lexa reaches for Clarke, making proper introductions and watching for the trademarked big brother glare Lincoln would give the blonde, but she finds only warmth. Maybe that’s who Clarke is, that’s what she brings out in people.

It’s not long until Octavia drags Clarke to the living room, leaving the two siblings to catch up as she tries to get the blonde to “spill all the dirt” about Lexa, who merely rolls her eyes in the middle of a smile. 

The apartment is cozy and arranged to have as much open space as possible, so when Lexa follows Lincoln into the kitchen, the lack of walls allows Lexa to gaze at Clarke from a distance, like a lovesick pup. She convinces herself, as she futilely tries to pinpoint what exactly Lincoln is cooking, that it’s solely to make sure the blonde behaves and doesn’t go off the part they’re playing.

It’s hard even for herself to believe it.

She needs to distract herself, and Lincoln seems to need help, so she lifts one pot lid and another, trying to find something she recognizes, “Do you want me to help you with anything?”

“No. You’re not touching food,” his answer is quick and he swats her hands away with a dish rag before putting it back on his shoulder, “Octavia still can’t see fish after your last dinner.”  _ Oh, the codfish incident _ . Her neck and ears get hotter in embarrassment as she remembers a burned on the outside, raw on the inside dish that left Octavia hurling as Lincoln laughed and held her hair, “You can just hang around and tell me about Clarke.”

“I can do salad, I’m good at salads,” she insists and Lincoln gives her a panicked look. She has a really bad history of cooking, and her brother lost all faith in her skills in the kitchen, “I’ll just chop it, you can season it.” 

Lincoln seems to relax into himself and Lexa rolls her eyes as she looks at the cabinets for a bowl to toss the salad in. There’s a stretch of silence where Lincoln goes around tasting everything, making sure the seasoning is right and nothing is missing, and Lexa chops the vegetables laid out in the counter as she looks for Clarke’s eyes at every possible moment. She seems to have found a friend in Octavia and Lexa lets herself imagine what they’re talking about - maybe the struggles of dating a Woods, maybe Octavia is warning Clarke off their mother. 

Lexa stops with her knife in the air, a smile on her lips, as Clarke laughs with her eyes closed, tossing her head back as she reaches for Octavia’s thigh to steady herself. Lincoln seems to notice it, “You’re so in love, Lex. Come on, tell me about her.”

Looking at him for a moment, she remembers their practiced story, “She’s an artist. We met when I went to her gallery looking for a piece for the new firm and well, one thing led to another.” Even to her ears, it sounded raw and fake. This isn’t how she’d tell her brother about a girl. She might not be a nineteen year old who would go on and on and  _ on _ about how Costia’s freckles seemed to shine and multiply under the sun, but talking about her in vague sentences didn’t feel right, “She brings out a side of me I thought had died with Cos.”

She adds that last part in a whim, fiercely pretending it’s just a lie.

“You seem happy, Lex,” he turns down the heat on some pots and smiles at Lexa - a genuine smile that makes her uncomfortable in her own skin. She feels like a fake, but she might as well carry it on.

“I am.”

Lincoln kicks her out of the kitchen, ordering her to set the table but both of them know he’s scared her mere presence will set something off course. She resigns herself to dragging plates and cutlery with a pout, sticking her tongue out to Lincoln and saying “I hope you choke” at least four times more than it was acceptable for two grown adults.

She finds Clarke smiling at her over the shoulder, clearly amused with the interaction between them. Lexa is more carefree with her brother than she can force herself to be around anyone else - they share so much, it’s impossible not to feel safe when he broke his best friend’s jaw because he spat a homophobic slur at Lexa, or to avoid the teasing when he made fun of her for a week after she had her wisdom teeth removed and called her a chipmunk for longer than that.

Lexa and Clarke don’t find a moment to be near each other until dinner, when they sit closer than it might be appropriate - but Lexa has never been more glad that Clarke is a leftie and can shamelessly stroke her thigh under the table while they carry on a conversation.

“I couldn’t say  _ Lexa  _ until I was, what, seven?” Lincoln looks at Lexa for confirmation, stuffing his mouth and talking around it.

“ _ Nine _ . It was adorable seeing you struggle with my name like that, even though it’s a pretty simple word, come on.” Lexa crinkles her nose as he sticks his tongue out before turning to Clarke, finishing her story, “So  _ Heda _ stuck.”

“I’ll make all your nephews call you Heda, you know that, right?” Octavia laughs at Lexa and she smiles at how much they’ve grown from side eyes and snarky comments from the early days.

Lexa rolls her eyes, letting her left hand fall on top of Clarke’s, tangling their fingers even if the position is odd. “Auntie Heda will give them pizza every weekend.” Lexa teases her, knowing how much of a health freak Octavia is - Lincoln being a nutritionist, it would be impossible for him to find a more suitable match. “How does that sound?”

Lincoln shoves more vegetables on his plate before pointedly handing it to Lexa - either to force her to eat more vegetables or to keep her hands where he could see them, “As long as you don’t  _ make _ the pizzas, we should be fine.”

“I’ve heard you almost poisoned Octavia with your food,” Clarke says, stealing some vegetables from the ones Lexa just put on her plate and pushing her own aside, visibly trying to hold her laughter.

At the same time Lexa exclaims “ _ That’s a lie! _ ” in utter indignation, Lincoln pitches in, “It’s true, my wife almost died.” He kisses Octavia’s temple and turns to Clarke, then to Lexa, “You’ve never tasted her cooking? Lexa, have you never cooked for her?”

Lexa goes cold. Of course she had never cooked for Clarke - she’s staying in a hotel, for Christ’s sake, and a week ago she could have sworn she’d never lay eyes on the blonde again. Luckily for her, Clarke is a quick thinker, “Now that you mention it, she has always gotten around that.” Clarke pouts, as if she’s trying to remember their many days together and all those times they ate together. Lexa feels sick, “I think she made toast at some point, but she couldn’t really screw up toast.”

Octavia snorts, “You would think.”  _ It happened once, _ Lexa wants to add,  _ one time _ . She had burned toast to the point it looked more like coal than bread, but that was a detail she was fine with Clarke not knowing.

Clarke leans in and kisses her cheek, nuzzling against the underside of her jaw as she let out a soft laugh, “It’s okay, babe. I’ll cook.” Lexa rolls her eyes, both at the nickname and the thought of Clarke cooking for her - she refuses to let herself think about that scenario for long, “I’m not as good at it as chef Lincoln here, but our children won’t starve.” Clarke laughs it out and Lexa almost chokes on her water at the wording -  _ our  _ children. “Or  _ die _ .”

Lexa imagines a sandy haired toddler running barefoot after they catch them trying to steal from the cookie jar, Clarke running after them to tickle a confession out of them while she has a seven-month-old on her hips, wild curls matching hers. She smiles fondly at the picture perfect future and immediately chastises herself - no, no,  _ no. _

“I feel left out.” Lincoln huffs and laughter rolls from the table at his five-year-old like pouting, “You two are all kinds of sappy - seriously, Lexa, you complained about me and Octavia but you two are honestly worse.” Octavia snuggles against Lincoln and Lexa tries to roll her eyes, but then she notices Clarke lazily running her fingers through her curls, “Anyway, you’re in this happy place and seem to have been for a while since you’re thinking about  _ children _ already, and you only mentioned her a few days ago.”

“Oh god, stop ‘big brothering’ her. If she wanted to keep it to herself, you should  _ let her _ .” Octavia scolds him so Lexa doesn’t have to, and she’s suddenly very glad she’s her sister-in-law, “Your sister is old enough to not tell you about everyone she kisses.”

Lincoln has the decency to look embarrassed, and turns more fully to Octavia, speaking in a low tone, “I know but I mean she usually tells me these things. She always has” He chuckles, a memory bringing a different glint to his eyes as he kicks Lexa softly under the table to call her attention, “Remember how you wouldn’t shut up about Cos-  _ Ow! _ ”

It takes her a second to digest what happens in that split moment. Lincoln mentioned Costia - it’s hardly a topic they don’t talk often, Lincoln has been there through everything. He was there to hear her talking about her, to calm her nerves when she finally decided to ask her out, to make their visit to their mother less awkward. To dry her tears when it was all gone. 

Lincoln mentioned Costia and Octavia elbowed him in the least discreet way.

Lexa finds her voice, and if it’s a bit broken, no one mentions it, “Clarke knows about Costia, Octavia. It’s fine.”

Octavia shoots her a comforting look before turning her glare to Lincoln, “It’s not  _ fine. _ We shouldn’t talk about dead ex-girlfriends to current girlfriends any more than we should talk about live ones.” She pokes Lincoln’s side, softening her scolding glare into a teasing tone. “How do you like me babbling about Atom?” Lexa almost tunes that part out, trying to keep herself from splitting in half, and sees Lincoln locking his jaw, “My point exactly.”

Lexa feels more than sees Clarke’s hand falling limp on her lap, watery blue eyes turning to her in astonished shock. Lexa meets her eyes with worry, then confusion, and finally understanding. Clarke didn’t know that detail.

“S-she  _ died _ ?” Clarke’s voice is as small as it could possibly get, barely a whisper that sounds like a thunder.

Blinking rapidly to prevent her oncoming tears from falling, Lexa thanks every deity listening for Lincoln and Octavia’s sync as they both shout “ _ who wants dessert? _ ” before vanishing to the kitchen, giving them some privacy. 

But neither find the words to say.

Lexa had actively refused mentioning Costia to Clarke, besides telling her she had lost someone. But losing someone can mean a lot of different things - she fell in love with someone else. we grew apart. she had to move away. she realized she was straight. - none of them as heavy and definitive as  _ death _ . 

When looking at that sea of worry that are Clarke’s eyes becomes too much for her to deal with, Lexa turns her attention back to her plate. She has barely touched her food, every bite seemingly growing inside her mouth with increasing worry, and what little she had gotten down seems to want to come up. 

She can’t do this. She thought she could, but she can’t.

She won’t do this. She can’t keep this charade any longer.

Clarke finds her voice first, “I shouldn’t have reacted that way, I’m-”

“It’s fine,” Lexa cuts her apology short before she can get the words out. She doesn’t need an apology, and Clarke shouldn’t feel like she needs one. She stares at her place without seeing it, instead picturing what a fake she is. She isn’t fine. She isn’t over Costia and this isn’t a relationship. She is not fine.

The blonde reaches out for her arm, a unsteady hand that Lexa knows to be warm and comforting, but all she can do is dodge the touch like it’s a flame trying to set her on fire, “Are you okay?”

“I’m  _ fine _ .” Her tone is cold and practiced. She’s been saying this for as long as she can remember. She hasn’t fallen apart in ages, she won’t do it now, “It’s been seven years, I’m fine.” Lexa throws her napkin on top of her plate, pushing her chair back and praying that she can stand on her own too feet, “Excuse me.”

With unsteady legs, Lexa runs to the bathroom. As she closes the door behind her and leans against the sink, she feels like throwing up all her lunch and breakfast and guts. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply through her nose helps, but she knows the churning in her stomach won’t go away for a while. Lexa opens the tap, letting the cold water awakening her nerves be the only thing she feels - it tingles her fingers and sends a shiver down her spine when she lets it run up her forearm, and it’s better than acknowledging what is happening in her chest.

It takes her a few moments to find the courage to look at the mirror.

Her reflection tells her the story she doesn’t want to hear. Her eyes are bloodshot with unshed tears, the green in them standing out ridiculously, but what catches her attention is the desperation in them. 

It still hurts.

She isn’t fine and it still hurts.

Turning her back to the mirror, Lexa lets her face fall into her hands. She won’t cry - not now, not in front of Lincoln and Octavia, definitely not in front of Clarke. But she can’t keep her mind from running wild.

She remembers stealing kisses in a playground behind her house, stargazing on the hood of her first car with fingers intertwined and ribs hurting from laughter, getting caught making out in the alley beside a club they had gotten into thanks to fake IDs.

She remembers smelling blood in her hair for weeks.

Opening her eyes wide, as if she had scared herself, Lexa runs her hands under the tap once more before shutting it down and looking at her reflection one last time. With a deep breath, she repeats the orders she’s giving herself - go back out, act happy, play the part, go home, drink yourself to sleep.

She barely manages to carry on step one.

Her mind, left fuzzy by the so deeply buried memories she brought back to surface, sharpens at the scene that greets her.

Lincoln is nowhere to be seen. Clarke is hugging Octavia - hardly a friendly hug. Clarke is  _ all over _ Octavia, one hand in her stomach, the other tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as she whisper something in her ear, both their eyes closed.

Then Clarke looks at her. And  _ smiles. _

Her stomach turns and she tastes bile as she makes a beeline for the balcony.

She needs air. Her lungs doesn’t feel big enough to take in as much air as she needs. 

Lexa grips the balcony railing so tightly her knuckles turn white, the quick transition from warmth to cold air biting her skin. She doesn’t let go of the railing, there are black spots dancing in her vision and she can’t let go of the damn railing without falling all those floors down. She can’t stay outside for much longer, but she certainly can’t go back there and see  _ that _ . She dry heaves and tightens her grips even further, closing her eyes against the sharp pain shooting up her arm.

She doesn’t know what to do.

She can’t do this.

A hand brushes the small of her back before she feels a heavy coat being draped around her shoulders. She prays for it to be Lincoln, but the air shifts warmly around her and even before she opens her eyes, Lexa knows it’s Clarke taking her hands within her, “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?”

Everything she had given Clarke a few hours ago seem like a mistake.

She needs to take some of it back, needs to place the pieces back within her before she crumbles.

Lexa sees red. “What were you doing back there? Looking for a new client?” Lexa spits out, gritting her teeth at Clarke’s confused “ _ what? _ ”. Yanking her hands from Clarke’s, she takes a few steps to the left, finding that pure anger was enough to keep her steady, “I thought you had some boundaries, but you’ll go to any lengths, won’t you? You  _ do  _ realize Octavia is married to Lincoln, don’t you?” Her usually measured voice is shaking, high pitched words being followed by cracking ones, “They’re a  _ family _ . Are you sure you want to split that?” 

“Wait- you thought-” Clarke blinks at her, taking the hits as they come, “You think I was hitting on Octavia?”

Turning to stare down at Clarke, Lexa fails to notice the teary blue eyes, as her voice shows all the disgust she suddenly feels, “I wouldn’t say hitting, but maybe you want a threesome with them after I leave town.” Lexa shivers, closing her eyes briefly, “Please, oh god,  _ please _ , wait until I leave town.”

“Lexa, what the  _ fuck _ ?” Clarke’s voice crack in the breath she takes, and Lexa feels her heart trying to hammer its way out of her chest. She won’t feel bad. She  _ won’t _ .

She feels an odd calm flooding her. Despite Clarke’s blinking the tears away and sucking in a breath, Lexa decides to treat this situation as it is: a business transaction, “I don’t care what you do after this little endeavour of ours is done, but until them, could you please pretend better?” If the tilting of her head is condescending, she decides it’s for the best. “I’m not paying you as much as I am to have you grinding against our hosts.”

Clarke’s breath is coming in short, shallow puff, but she stands tall as Lexa spills offenses over her, “You don’t  _ own  _ me. I can have a pleasant conversation while at your service,  _ Commander _ .” The nickname that had spilled from Clarke’s lips in pleasure less than a day ago now sounds like a curse.

Closing the distance between them, Lexa stares Clarke down with pure anger in her gaze. Their noses almost touch as Lexa hiss in a threatening tone, “I  _ do _ own you. For these two weeks, I do. You’ll do what I say and when I say it and after that you can even toss one of your little friends into the fucking orgy you’re planning.”

Clarke closes her eyes for the length of a breath, before snapping them open and looking over Lexa shoulder. “Do you want me to pretend? Well, I will.” Lexa’s hands turn into fists at her sides when Clarke touches her cheek, bringing her closer and connecting their eyes in an uncomfortable way, “I’m gonna kiss you now. Your brother is coming over.”

When her lips touch, it feels like smacking her mouth against a brick wall. It’s not a kiss - it’s an act. Lexa moves her lips against Clarke’s, which she tells herself not for the first time that it’s simply muscle memory, and the blonde doesn’t respond. She stands with lips closed, until Lincoln is close enough for them to part.

“Are you okay?” Lincoln asks, a gentle hand lying on her arm as she stumbles away from Clarke, and Lexa nods once, “I got my feet in my mouth, but I swear I have a good reason for that.” Lincoln lets out a nervous laugh, that Lexa wishes could calm her, “Now come on in, it’s freezing out here.”

Lexa get inside and gladly accepts the wine Octavia hands her, almost wishing she could simply take the entire bottle. She bites her cheek when she turns to make sure Clarke is around - she is, dutifully beside her, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes plastered on her face.

“We have an announcement and, well, I’ve spilled it to Clarke already, but we wanted to tell you both,” Octavia starts, holding up a wine glass filled with water, and nudges Lincoln to keep going as her eyes water.

Between words like “we’ll tell mom when she gets here, but we wanted you to be the first to know”, “we were trying”, “auntie Heda”, “pregnant” and “baby”, Lexa feels like someone dropped a bucket of icy water on her.

Her insides turn as she realizes -  _ Clarke was merely congratulating Octavia on her pregnancy _ .

The next half hour is a blur to Lexa.

Somehow, she makes it through wishing them all the happiness in the world and  _ oh, how excited mom will be! her first grandchild! _ comments without falling apart. She keeps her eyes trained on Octavia as she goes on and on about how she had a complete meltdown when she found out and Lincoln wouldn’t pick up his phone, and nods every now and again, a smile plastered on her lips.

She doesn’t  _ dare _ look at Clarke.

Lexa hugs Octavia tightly and Lincoln even tighter when they leave - she  _ is _ happy for them. By this time next year, she’ll have a niece or nephew giving her sloppy goodbye kisses. She’ll be an aunt and she already loves the life growing inside of Octavia more than anything in the world - but she can’t quite find the feeling amidst the irreconcilable shame she feels.

During the drive back, the car seems to almost slow down with how heavy their silence is. 

It weighs down on Lexa, her stomach turning again and again until she can’t bear it anymore and draws her eyes to look at Clarke. The blonde’s face is blank, scaringly lacking any expression at all, and Lexa can do little against the sharp pain in her chest.

As Clarke parks in front of the hotel, Lexa waits to see if she’ll get out of the car, but the blonde doesn’t seem like she’ll even talk at all.

After everything that happened, Lexa is hardly surprised.

They both stay still in the car, neither moving at all. Clarke keeps her eyes trained in the hood of the car, her lips pursed, a death grip on the steering wheel. Lexa clears her throat lightly before daring to speak, “Could you come up?”

Clarke waits a beat before answering in a monotone voice, “Is this an order?”

“A request.” Lexa tries to keep her voice soft, but it trembles as she power through, knowing she has to do this  _ now _ . Leaving it for tomorrow will not make this conversation any easier, “Please, it won’t take long.”

“With you, it never does,” is all Clarke mutters before leaping out of the car, slamming her door shut.


	4. december, 22nd | part ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter should have been named something alone the likes of "a fucking emotional roller coaster". 
> 
> Trigger warning for somewhat graphic description of death, a bit of gore and traumatic episodes. I wouldn't say it's something major, but better stay on the safe side.
> 
> I hope this 16k word _monster_ makes up for the long wait! As always, let me know what you think, your opinions and ideas. I absolute adore reading them all.

**_DECEMBER 22ND_ **

The door slamming rattles her insides. 

Lexa reminds herself she doesn’t have the right to be hurt as she leads the way into the hotel, holding the door for Clarke to get inside as well, half expecting the blonde to not follow her at all. She knows she wouldn’t if the roles were reversed. She knows she deserves every bit of despair and anger flowing towards her, but it still stings that Clarke doesn’t seem physically capable of staying less than four feet away from her.

Their silence is filled with unshed tears, unspoken curses, toned down yells, broken apologies. 

Everything seems to be covered in an early fall fog, making it hard for Lexa to name the expression Clarke is wearing.

The elevator ride seems to take ten times its usual duration, each woman leaning against one side of the metal box. Lexa keeps her eyes trained on the floor, knuckles hurting as she twists them together in an idle attempt to ease the burning feeling in her chest. Only when the number above the door shows her floor is it that Lexa dares to gaze at Clarke, and for merely a second, she sees someone she doesn’t recognize at all. Her arms are crossed against her chest, a bored mask falling into place as she walks out before Lexa.

Lexa isn’t used to being wrong. More than that, she’s not used to  _ apologizing _ . Her job requires her to cover up her mistakes without anyone ever knowing they happened in the first place, and being considered the most arrogant and bitchy of the bosses guarantees she isn’t expected to apologize to anyone, even when she offends someone. She doesn’t really have many friends to do wrong to, and the ones she does have know more than enough she’s too proud to acknowledge when something she’s done isn’t right.

Costia - that was the last person she asked to forgive her.

Sliding the card into the door more forcefully than necessary, Lexa leaves those memories in the hallway as she gets inside her hotel room, turning on the lights as she hangs her coat, knowing Clarke has followed her when the door slams behind her. She barely gets to the living room area before her back is against the wall, clammy hands finding the exposed skin between her shirt and the waistline of her leather pants.

Clarke is kissing her.

Or something vaguely akin to kissing. Clarke’s lips, usually so soft and gentle, are rough and hard, pursed as if she’s actively trying not to puke from pure disgust. Lexa sees the crease in between Clarke’s eyebrows and the kiss feels like having her lips rubbed against concrete. Tears sting the back of her eyes as she pushes Clarke away, and she quickly blinks them away when she meets the pools of hatred that are Clarke’s eyes.

Lexa barely has time to breath in before Clarke’s lips are on hers again, hands climbing up her waist, “ _ Stop _ . I don’t-” Her voice is weak and trembling as she puts a bigger distance between her and Clarke, who stumbles back slightly, “I don’t want sex.”

“And why not?” Clarke asks in an almost hysterical tone that makes Lexa barely recognize her voice “Are you too grossed out by the thought of me having sex with your entire extended family to get what you’re paying  _ so much _ for?”

Lexa breathes deeply to quell the emptiness in her chest - she deserves that. “I want to talk.”

She stays all but glued to the wall behind her as Clarke wipes her lips with the back of her hand. The blonde takes two steps forward and sets both her palms on the wall on each side of her shoulders, keeping her locked in, “Talk, or accuse me of something  _ else _ ?” Lexa takes in each detail of Clarke’s face, contorted due to something she can’t name - anger, hurt, disgust, a mix of all three. “You have no idea how close I am to walking out of this room and never looking at you again. Do you even see me as a person? Or am I just some merchandise you purchased and get pissed when there’s some malfunction? Well, when you  _ think _ there’s som-”

“I’m sorry.” The words spill from her lips, taking both of them aback by how sincere they sound. It doesn’t leave the bitter taste she thought it would have, it doesn’t feel humiliating or diminishing of her too big pride. It feels overdue. “I’m  _ sorry _ .” She repeats, and the emptiness in her chest seems to come alive, “I shouldn’t have assumed anything. I should have listened to you at least.” Her voice shakes with the weight of the words and her entire body seems to be made of lead, regardless of her feeling like she could float away, “I’m not good at relationships, even fake ones. And when Lincoln mentioned Costia…” Before she’s aware her eyes are watering, a tear fall down her cheek, so quickly she barely has time to wipe it away, “She still means a lot to me, it still hurts to think about her, and I took it out on you.” Lexa breathes in deeply, shaky from head to toe as she exhales, “I’m trusting a whole deal to you and even the thought of it all crashing down… I’m sorry. I- “

All of a sudden, she’s lacking words.

It’s not that she doesn’t have more to say - she does, it feels like she has an entire ocean to swim through and explain to Clarke, but she can’t. 

Lexa can’t tell Clarke she feels guilty. Her insides are rusty with guilt and tears she sheds as she clings to the sheets, yearning for a touch she isn’t entitled to. She feels like she’s betraying Costia and her dark skin framed by tight curls and the plans they made for their life.

She can’t tell Clarke she feels dirty when her heart pounds a little bit harder, a little bit faster when the blonde takes her hands into hers, touches their lips together. 

There’s no way to put into words how much falling in love with Clarke taints her with more grief for Costia than she knows what to do with.

_ No, no, not falling in love, never falling in love. _ There’s no denying Lexa is too involved with Clarke for her own good, but from wanting this insane business deal to go right to falling in love is a big jump - one she’s not ready to take and should never be.

“I understand if you want to leave,” Lexa finds her voice after a long pause, and if it’s tiny and hoarse, she doesn’t care, “And I don’t mean just tonight. I’ll come up with some excuse for you, you don’t have to worry.”

Every beat of her heart is painful as she waits for an answer that doesn’t seem to be coming at all.

Clarke puts some distance between them, crossing her arms against her chest in the same defensive position she had a few minutes ago in the elevator, before finding Lexa’s eyes. It’s almost physically painful to see the tears pooling. “First, you’re gonna listen to me,” Clarke’s voice is shaky only in the first word, then she takes a deep steadying breath, and finds the firmness in her voice again. Lexa straightens up, paying attention. She’s willing to listen to anything. The blonde uncrosses her arms and stares down at Lexa, limbs visibly shaky, “What you did was really shitty, I hope you  _ fucking  _ know that.” Lexa finds herself nodding, itching to close the distance between them - which is a new scary feeling altogether for her, “I’m not a street hooker for you to feel like you have the right to spit on my face - if you’re into that, it’s gonna cost extra.” The words are dry and cold and filled with something Lexa still can’t name - anger, hurt, despair, a mix of all three.

“Clarke- I’ve never-” Lexa starts a new batch of apologies, taking one tentative step forward, but the blonde merely lifts a trembling hand to stop her.

“You do not own me. Make it stick with you. You do  _ not  _ own me. You bought a service and I’m providing it. You have the right to question the service, not have a claim on me,” Clarke’s keeps her voice firm and direct, and Lexa recognizes it as a ‘making business deals’ voice - she’s used it more than once, but she pays more attention to Clarke than she would to any client of hers. Clarke closes the distance between them in two short strides, eyes locked with Lexa's, voice short,  “You do not own my body, my time, my mind, my he- you do.  _ Not _ . Own. Me. Is that clear?” Lexa can only nod, once, clasping her hands in front of herself, “I’m staying. You asked for a girlfriend until New Years, and that’s what you’re getting. But you pull that kind of shit one more time and I swear to god-”

“I won’t- I promise you, I won’t- ever again,” Lexa is the one to interrupt her now, relief flooding every inch of her body. Clarke is in it with her, she can do this. She doesn't have to do this alone.

"You better." Clarke breathes deeply and closes her eyes, before saying again, softer this time, "You  _ better _ ." For a moment, they're both silent. Lexa can't think of anything else to say, but she doesn't want Clarke to leave just yet. When she's about to suggest something stupid, Clarke finally opens her eyes and stares at her again, blue eyes bright and vivid, "But we need to... work. On us." Lexa frowns at the wording -  _ us  _ -, but Clarke continues, "If today showed us anything, it’s that we really don’t know enough about each other to pretend to be in a relationship for two entire weeks." Lexa lets herself fall against the wall again - it's been only two days and she already feels drained with the weight of the lies upon lies mixed with feelings she doesn't want to name, "Not when we’re having lunch at your parents' soon," in two days, Lexa reminds herself, trying not to shiver at the thought of her mother asking the most awkward questions to Clarke. She can't really remember why she thought this was a good idea at all, "Lincoln was about to give me the big brother talk, so I can only imagine what your dad is gonna say."

"My father is-" gone seems too simple of an explanation, so Lexa opts for the next best thing, voice even like it always was when she mentions him, "-not in the picture. My mother might give you an earful." She smiles at the thought briefly, only because she imagines Clarke blushing, but grimaces right after, "She will definitely give you an earful."

Clarke smiles at her - a tentative smile, as a child dipping their toes in the water to see if it's warm enough. Something behind that smile reminds her of another set of lips smiling just like that after a fight they refused to let affect their relationship. It felt unnervingly familiar.

"This is something I should know. In ten months, your dad not being around should have come up," Clarke's expression softens as she reaches for Lexa's forearm, who's suddenly aware of how close they are once she straightens up from her slumping against the wall, "I can play pretend and go along with whatever you tell them about me, but I have to know things about you."

Lexa nods, shortly, before letting Clarke's hand fall from her arm as she walked further into the living room area, eyeing both the loveseat and the armchair - both seem dreadfully filled with memories she shouldn't be thinking about. Opting for the armchair, she wants to tell Clarke she doesn't want to pretend. She wants to know Clarke's past, every detail of it that shaped the blonde into who she is today. She swallows as she remembers Clarke's words - she can't ask her that. She isn't entitled to that part of Clarke.

"Okay, where should we begin?" Lexa crosses her legs and folds her hands on top of her knee, her posture making it look like she's wearing suit pants in a business meeting, not leather pants in her own hotel room.

Her blood turns cold as Clarke plops down onto the loveseat and pats the spot right beside her, batting her eyelashes dramatically towards Lexa.

"We can't play lovebirds with you sitting all the way over there," Clarke is playful and Lexa finds herself smiling in spite of herself. Clarke scoots to the corner closest to Lexa, her pumps kicked out somewhere and her feet tucked under her legs as she reaches out her hand, that Lexa takes without thinking twice, "Come on, I won't bite," her voice is sultry and warm, but turns playful once more "Unless you're into that - we should really discuss kinks."

Lexa shakes her head and steps over to the armchair, their hands still linked as she sits with a safe distance between them, "I doubt anyone will ask about what we do in the bedroom."

"Anya might," Clarke shrugs and Lexa realizes that yes, this is really something Anya would do, if only to embarrass her friend.

Shaking her head at the awful, awful mental image of Anya knowing she had ridden Clarke this morning, Lexa adds in a almost shrieking voice, "We'll tell her it's none of her business."

"I wanna know though. What turns you on?” Clarke’s voice goes from lighthearted to sultry in half a second flat, “What makes you shiver with want?”

Lexa swallows audibly, letting her fingers untangle from Clarke’s to run them through her hair. She can’t have this kind of conversation while touching Clarke, even if it’s merely her fingertips, and her neck feels suddenly too hot - it’s her hair, nothing else, her  _ hair _ . "Can we start with something simpler?" If her voice cracks, she doesn’t mind.

Soft laughter finds her ears, "Sure, pussycat, we'll work you up to it then.”

" _ Clarke _ .” Her tone is almost a warning as her pointed look is, but she can’t help a tight smile, “I can do babe, but pussycat?”

“Okay,  _ babe _ .” Clarke chuckles again and settles closer to Lexa, her knee touching Lexa’s thigh but still leaving enough room between them it would suffocate either of them. Lexa smiles and lets her hands fall on her lap - she has grown almost fond of the nickname Clarke uses so often to call her, despite her constant eye rolling and denying it. “Who am I meeting?”

Lexa focuses on recalling her last phone call with her mother. “Lincoln and Octavia will be there,”  _ and they’ll announce their pregnancy.  _ Lexa knows her mother will be thrilled - she’s been asking for grandchildren since they were in their teens. “Indra, my godmother, will as well. She’s my mother’s best friend since… since before I can remember, to be honest.” Her mother had told her about Indra’s divorce and how a change of scenery for the holidays might do her good - she’s the sole reason everyone is spending Christmas and New Year's in New York instead of Toronto. “Anya might be there, she hasn’t confirmed. I guess it all depends how hammered she’ll get tomorrow. And well, my mom.” 

Frowning, Lexa wishes she had wine or something else to drink if only to keep her hands busy. It seems to finally hit her, like a blow to the face, that not only will Clarke be meeting her mother, but that her mom will also be meeting Clarke. Her mom - who calmed her nerves when she had nightmares about Costia and let Lexa climb in bed with her when she couldn’t stay in their apartment, who calls her every weekend to make sure she’s eating enough and has a jacket in her car ‘just in case’, who soothed her fears when she told her she liked girls and assured she’d never go through life unloved. 

Her mom - who might be happier to meet Clarke than anyone else in the world, because Lexa knows very well she spent the better part of the last half decade wishing for nothing more than someone to make her daughter happy.

“Tell me about her.” Clarke prompts softly, snapping Lexa out of her reverie.

Lexa holds Clarke’s gaze for a moment, before dropping her eyes to her fingers intertwined on her lap, “Yeah, hm- her name is Eudoxia. She used to be a stay-at-home mom when Lincoln and I were little,” Lexa thinks back to the basement filled to the roof with crafts they had done with their mom and later with all nannies - always at her mother’s urging. “She’s very sentimental about our early childhood, so you might need to be prepared to listen to a  _ lot _ of stories.” These stories made up Lexa’s nightmares back when she first introduced someone to her mother, but now she’s fond of them - they’re mostly stories about Lexa lecturing Lincoln after he fell down the jungle gym, or a sleepy Lexa waking up to go outside get the paper so she could read the cartoons first thing in the morning, “She’s a real estate agent. After my dad left us, that’s what she could do.”

Clarke brushes Lexa’s hair away from her face, tucking a few strands behind her ear and swiping the rest of it over her shoulder, “Can I ask about him?”

Nodding, Lexa takes a deep breath, her tone clearly gone colder as she dumps all information she’s willing to share with Clarke, “He left when I was five, Lincoln was three. He used to be a stockbroker and, well, when the firm he worked at went bankrupt, it did a number on him.” She remembers the dark days - her dad lying on the couch from sunrise to sunset, her mother trying to get a job while she prayed to god that Lincoln and Lexa wouldn’t be too loud, “I'm- I haven't heard from him since I was 10, and he was trying to get a job in Las Vegas to pay his gambling debt.”

“Lexa…” Clarke’s worried voice has Lexa reaching out for her leg before she can even finish her thought, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, it wouldn’t-” Lexa presses her hand against Clarke’s knee in reassurance, a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes lighting up her face, “He wouldn't have been a good influence, if he had stayed. I’m good with how things turned out.”

“Your mother sounds like an incredible woman, it’ll be an honor to meet her,” Clarke’s tone is truthful and filled with emotion, that quickly drops into playfulness again, “Plus, I get to hear tiny Lexa stories, which is already making my day better.” Lexa can only roll her eyes, squeezing Clarke’s thigh once more - she still feels guilty for all the awful words she spilled onto the blonde earlier, and Clarke being so damn  _ nice _ now makes her worry about something she can’t put into words, “Wait, you’re from Canada, right? Were you born there?”

“Born and raised in Toronto, yes. But my grandparents were actually from upstate New York.” Lexa nods lightly, drawing her hands back to herself as Clarke shifts, throwing one arm in the backrest of the loveseat, her fingertips grazing Lexa’s shoulders, “Lincoln moved down here to go to college a year before I got into law school, met Octavia and stayed.” The more she thought about it lately, the more likely it seemed that they’d eventually all move to New York - she had her new firm to worry about and their mom would come to the city more often when the baby was born. 

She can’t help but sigh - her and Clarke’s relationship could work, if there were an inch of truth to everything they’ve been playing so far.

“What about you and Lincoln? You two seem close,” Clarke tilts her head slightly, reaching for Lexa’s thigh. Lexa can tell she’s trying to coax her to open up more, but sharing only the little things already makes her feel scrubbed raw and naked.

But nonetheless, she tries to be truthful, “Lincoln is… He’s my best friend,” Lexa smiles at the memory of Anya’s offended face when she told her that for the first time, after Lincoln had to bandage his hands from punching a guy unconscious, “We grew up leaning on each other, after dad- He’s always been there for me, when I realized I liked girls, when I went through rough patches, when-” Lexa grits her teeth as she remembers him soaking her hair to wash off the dried blood as she fell into pieces that could never be put together again, “He’s- he’s everything I could ask for in a brother.”

Lincoln has been her everything since before all things came to be - yet, she has been lying to his face without giving it a second thought.

Lexa gets up suddenly, startling Clarke as she strides forward, back straight as a rod as she makes her way to the mini bar. She  _ knows _ those drinks are absurdly expensive and it'd be much more cost efficient to call the reception and ask for their finest wine - which she found out she actually likes more than the cheap wine she usually bought herself when the nights were too long but not quite long enough to demand hard liquor - but the thought of waiting for it to arrive makes her even more agitated.

She grabs a few mini bottles of gin and some tonic, and mixes them into a makeshift drink that won't taste great, but will do its job. She sips hers as she prepares Clarke's, gently adding less gin for the blonde, knowing she won't drink it if it's strong.

Making the act of pouring the drink almost into a soothing ritual, Lexa lets her mind wander for a moment. She knows she's been lying to Lincoln, she knew she would be from the moment she asked Clarke to be a part of this whole endeavor - but seeing the glint in his eyes and  _ knowing _ he's imagining a little cousin for his child makes her heart break.

It's not that she hasn't lied to him before. She did deny a few hookups with girls he didn't like - or that he  _ did _ like more than she knew at the time - and ended an argument before it started. But Lexa has never lied so blatantly to him, never for her own sake as much as she's doing now.

And the day after tomorrow, she'll lie to her mother.

Her next gulp sends half the drink down her throat.

Lexa hands Clarke her drink and sits on the edge of her seat, barely touching the seat at all, a thousand miles away from Clarke in that moment. She doesn't notice Clarke shifting next to her until she's brushing her hair away from her face again, tipping her head so their eyes lock.

“Are you okay?” Clarke whispers and only lets go of Lexa's chin when she sees a nod that is barely there. Then she takes a sip from her drink, setting it neatly on the coaster Lexa had asked for when she booked the room, her voice turning curious and light again, “What's your favorite holiday? You seem like someone who'd love Halloween as a kid.”

Lexa smiles at the few Halloween memories - mostly involving awful costumes to keep the already crude low temperatures at bay, such as Princess Leia wearing a turtleneck and SuperWoman in a parka. She hated every second of it. She likes Christmas the most, the peaceful quietness she gets from watching the snow fall with a cup of tea warming her from the inside out. But it's too risky to tell Clarke that, the holiday mere three days away.

“I like Easter. I used to love it because it means an entire weekend with egg hunts and playing in the backyard until well past dark. Now, I mostly like it because it means the weather will start to get warmer.” Lexa smiles and settles further into the love seat, resting her back fully as she finds herself telling the truth, the glass of gin and tonic swirling in her hand, “Lincoln actually does love Halloween. I'm almost scared for his baby,” she lets out a chuckle as she imagines a tiny little baby dressed up as Iron Man or some Disney princess, “Halloween and Thanksgiving are his things.”

She's so caught up in her memories of Lincoln dressed as a lumberjack simply to get a turkey done that she almost misses Clarke snorting, “Oh, please, you celebrate Thanksgiving  _ wrong _ . On the wrong day.” Clarke smiles again, leaning her shoulder against the backrest as she makes a face, “In the wrong  _ month _ .”

“Shut up,  _ 'murican _ .” Lexa spills the half witty comeback in the most exaggerated American accent she can muster, rolling her eyes at the blonde.

“You're too cute!” Clarke says in the middle of her laughter, and Lexa finds herself blushing. Clarke's bursting out compliments always leaves her with the tip of her ears burning. A smile finds its way to her lips, regardless of her best efforts to avoid it, but it falls flat at the change in Clarke's face.  The blonde sets a careful hand on Lexa's thigh, her voice barely there, “Is it okay if I ask about Costia?”

Lexa freezes. 

_ No, it isn't. _

Costia has managed to work her way into Lexa's conversations with Lincoln and Anya - a brief mention of what shampoo she used, or her favorite TV show, or that time she made everyone sign up for tightrope lessons. But it still felt sacred, their relationship, her  _ death _ .

Talking about Costia is out of limits, but Lexa knows she has to give Clarke at least some context to go with.

“It is. What would you like to know?” her tone becomes business-like and she straightens her back, making a perfect right angle between her thighs and stomach, eyes cast down on the drink in her hands.

“Anything you feel comfortable sharing.” Clarke's voice is soft and understanding, as if it'd be okay if Lexa wanted to avoid the topic altogether. She does, that's all she wants to do - not talk about Costia and kiss Clarke until she forgets the gaping hole in her chest.

It's a long, heavy silence before Lexa finds her words.

“We met on our way back from a frat party - only one I've ever attended. She smelled like cheap beer and smoke, I was half drunk myself and we walked back to campus together.” Lexa remembers how she slurred with the simplest of words, not knowing if she should blame all the booze she had had or the beautiful girl spilling wisdom that could only come after 2am, “I was a sophomore, she had just gotten into college, but she was already so sure of everything. She wanted to teach literature to high schoolers and since we lived on the same floor, it was easy for us to meet and I'd listen to her talk about her favorite authors for hours.” She's smiling, she knows that, she can feel the muscles on her face working despite the dark sadness embracing her once more. But she can't help it - not when she can picture Costia's wild hands gesturing all around her when a certain piece made her heart beat faster, not when she can remember how stunned Costia had been when Lexa shut her up with a kiss, “It was easy, falling in love with her.”

Her breath shakes her insides.

She can't do this, she  _ won't  _ spill everything she's been trying to hard to keep locked away.

Even the  _ idea _ of telling Clarke - or anyone else, for that matter - about sneaking Costia into her dorm after her roommate was asleep, breaking into the city pool to swim and make out, driving to the woods outside town to look at the stars, holding hands in public and feeling the thrill of loving and being loved in return; even the idea of sharing all that makes her heart bend over in pain.

She only realizes she's crying when Clarke reaches out to wipe away a tear.

“We don't have to-” Clarke lets her voice falls as her hands do, easing the almost empty glass from her hands and setting it next to hers on the coffee table before tangling their fingers together, “It's okay, Lex,” The nickname spills from Clarke's mouth so softly Lexa, in her surprise she can't find it in herself to suppress the sob that comes ripping her chest apart, “It's not my place to ask.”

Lexa grits her teeth in an almost futile attempt to keep her tears at bay. She fixates her eyes in a spot on the coffee table - the tip of her blue pen, left uncapped - and breathes in, breathes out, over and over again until only dry tears are left on her cheeks and a burning path on her forearm where Clarke has caressed her.

It's more than she wants, it's more than she can take. She's more open than she's been in  _ years _ , and it feels too much, but not enough.

She'll keep Costia - her Costia, her living and breathing and smiling in her sleep Costia - a secret. But she wants to give Clarke something  _ more -  _ so she gives the Costia that would no longer hold her.

“Her birthday is-  _ was _ on January 28th. She wanted to drive to Hay River to spend it with her family. It's... far north. Always crudely cold. I should have known, I should seen-” Lexa inhales deeply, holding her breath for as long as she could before letting it all go out quickly. It only makes her lightheaded and does nothing to keep the knot in her throat from forming, “I was driving, she had her feet up on the dashboard. She was reading a poetry book and the music was loud, but it didn't stop her. It never did.” Lexa lets herself dive deeper into the memories she tries so hard to leave behind her every day - Costia's dark skin flushed with the cold weather, her cheeks becoming more noticeable when she smiled and read a few verses out loud, “I leaned in to kiss her when she finished reading me a poem and- then- we were spinning.” Clarke finds a way to intertwine their fingers, the pad of her thumb caressing the back of her hand as the other reaches up to move her hair out of the way, wipe a stubborn tear that insists on falling, “I didn't see the black ice and we drifted, off the road and into a... ditch or something. I hit my head and woke up- I don't know how long after. We had landed in a field, Costia had unbuckled the seatbelt and climbed to my lap. I was-” 

It's hard to breathe. Lexa feels like her injuries never healed - _ that's why it hurts so much to  _ breathe _ , isn't it? _ \- and she leans into Clarke, feeling her warmth against the unbearable coldness of her memories.

“I had a concussion, broken ribs, broken wrist, twisted ankle. She hit her knees on her chest on the impact. It gave her internal bleeding and- she was coughing up blood on my shoulder all while I was unconscious. When I woke up,” god, how many times had she wished she hadn’t woken up? “she was stiff already. Gone.” Lexa locks her throat to keep the bile from rising up when she remembers prying Costia's arms away from around her neck and how they wouldn't move in the elbow, how afraid she was she'd hurt her, how long it took for her to realize she no longer could, “I should have seen the ice,” her voice is less than a whisper when Lexa finally succumbs to her grief.

Lexa doesn't realize Clarke's warm body pressed against her, her arms tightly wrapped against her shivering frame - it's not cold, but she's stuck in a loop that seems to never end. 

The smell of blood is overwhelming and she can’t do this, she can’t do this,  _ she cannot do this _ . 

She can’t live like this.

She can’t keep playing that day over and over again, she can’t keep feeling like she’s going to fall into that ditch every turn of the road. She can’t-

Closing her eyes against the multitude of images that flood her mind with memories she tries so hard to forget, she relives that day watching everything from afar. Lexa can see herself inside the car, dialing 911 with Costia still wrapped around her frame. She sees Lincoln carrying her from the emergency room to the bathroom and soaking her in warm water, washing the blood out of her hair. She can see herself in black, eyes almost closed from how much she had cried, watching as they lowered the love of her life into the ground.

“Lexa!” her eyes snap open at the sudden yelling, but all she sees is Costia’s face, “It’s okay, do you hear me? You’re okay,” she hears a voice that sounds nothing like the one she’s used to, and she blinks against it, “Squeeze my hands, as hard as you need. Come on,” she does as she’s told, closing her eyes and opening them slowly to find Clarke kneeling in front of her, hands being all but crushed by her white knuckles, “Hey. Hi, you’re here. You’re okay.” 

Lexa swallows past the lump in her throat and relaxes her muscles one by one as Clarke repeats “ _ you’re okay _ ” in a soft voice that sounds more like a mantra than a reassurance.

She’s not okay.

Letting go of Clarke’s hand, Lexa clears her throat as she squeaks out, “I need a minute,” before leaving to the bathroom, almost knocking Clarke down as she rushes out of the room, almost knocking herself down as she locks the bathroom door behind her.

She’s not okay.

She’s not okay. Her grief is like a wound kept hidden and carefully bandaged for so long that it festered around the edges, but it hurts less to keep it wrapped in cloth and medicine than to let it breathe, let it heal. Sharing these feelings with Clarke, as little as it was, made it feel like all the bandage had been torn apart, and dirty nails scraped the rotten bits until she was left raw.

She’s raw.

She can’t feel everything she needs to feel if she wants to ever be whole again.

She’s not okay. But she can’t make the same mistake, not twice in a single day.

Lexa strips down to her underwear in a haste, throwing her clothes haphazardly on the floor, littering the white tiles with her dark clothes. She finds an elastic band in one of the drawers on the cabinet under the sink and ties her hair up in an almost falling apart bun - the elastic will damage her hair and it’s hardly comfortable to have her hair up with this, but she can’t be bothered to look for a hair tie back in her room.

Keeping the hot water level screwed shut, Lexa turns the faucet on. The cold water feels like a blessing on her bare arms, giving her stomach and thighs goosebumps - it keeps her awake, it keeps her grounded. She cups some of the water and splashes it on her face, much less elegantly than any facial product ad, looking at her reflection as the water drips from her jaw.

Meditation and yoga sound like utter bullshit in her opinion, but she still finds herself repeating the mantra she’s learned years ago, when she tried any and every option to pull herself away from grief, “The truth is, unless you let go,”  _ letting go doesn’t mean forgetting, _ “unless you forgive yourself,”  _ I’ve punished myself enough, _ “unless you forgive the situation,”  _ I couldn’t have done much more for her,  _ “unless you accept that the situation is over, you cannot move forward.” 

Lexa splashes her face again, the cold water sending a shiver down her back. She scrubs her face gently, rubbing circles with the pads of her fingers until she’s bare faced, any trace of make up gone. She can see the slightly dark circles under her eyes more clearly. 

If she’s going to bare her soul, she might as well bare her face.

A few face wipes make her feel lighter, her skin cleaner. She grabs her towel and pats it down her body, drying all water that rolled down her back and torso, before breathing in deeply and stretching her hands above her head.

She’s in the present now. She can fake her way through these weeks. As long as she keeps Costia in a “please,  _ please, _ for the love of everything you hold holy, do not open” box.

Lexa steps into her room, eyeing the door that leads to the living area - she forgot to close it - before shuffling through her drawer. She pulls out silky black shorts with a matching loose tank top, both framed by lace. “ _ It’s not a sexy outfit, this is a simple pajama set, _ ” Lexa whispers to herself as she slips into her new clothes, feeling much less constricted with the soft fabric waving around her thighs as she walks back to the living room.

She finds Clarke standing up and leaning against the backside of the armchair, eyes cast on the floor in front of her, lips pursed and fingers intertwined in a hardly comfortable way. Her glass is no longer filled with gin and tonica.

Making no sound as she steps into the room, Lexa can take a moment to notice their height difference, now that she’s barefoot while Clarke is still wearing her pumps. She could easily get on her tiptoes and kiss the blonde, but it feels too domestic - even if that’s what they’re going for in this play.

“Hey,” Clarke’s head snaps up as she notices Lexa, “Are you feeling better?” her voice is simple and the worry is well hidden, as if she had witnessed Lexa throwing up her liquor rather than having a pretty awful panic attack. 

Lexa couldn’t thank her enough for that. Nothing made her sicker than people tilting their head and asking how she was doing in that condescending tone.

“I’m okay now,” and she isn’t lying, not really. “You shouldn’t have had to witness that.” An apology is ready to spill from her lips, and it surprises her senseless. It takes her a second to gather her bearings again, “We still have a lot to cover, but I think it’s best if we put that particular subject to rest.” Clarke nods solemnly, and Lexa forces a smile. If they agree on that, they should be fine. Her growling stomach reminds her of her plans for the evening, “Would you like to order pizza?”

Clarke seems slightly dumbstruck by the sudden change of subject, “What?”

Lexa walks across the room, sinking her feet into the plush rug, letting the soft naps slide against her toes as she reaches for the phone and one of the take out menus Lincoln had so kindly saved for her. 

“Pizza,” she waves the flyer as she walks back beside Clarke, who’s staring at her as if she’s growing another head, and eyes her choices, “I’m starving, I couldn’t really eat at lunch.” Lexa eyes Clarke, who’s staring at her with an amused smile, “What? You... don’t like pizza?”

The idea sounds absurd, and Clarke’s smile only widens, “The almighty Commander eats pizza?”

“The Commander does,” Lexa answers quickly, in an almost snappy tone that is the equivalent of her sticking her tongue out.

Clarke relaxes and kicks her pumps off, stacking them neatly out of the way as she makes her way to Lexa. “I’m learning new things about you already,” Clarke kisses the underside of Lexa’s jaw, who’s nibbling on her lip, trying to decide on what to get. Truth be told, she hardly ever gets pizza, but insists it’s only because an entire pizza for one person is too much. “Where’re you getting it from?”

Lexa barely trusts herself to say the name without messing it up, “Lombardi's. Lincoln said it’s one of the best.”

“It _really_ is. My brother-in-law has some damn good taste.” Clarke teases as her hand sneak under Lexa’s top, resting on the small of her back, “Their Spanish tapas pizza is to _die_ _for_. Oh man, and their shrimp and guacamole pizza-” the fine hairs on Lexa’s neck stand up as Clarke moans, and it takes her a moment to ground herself again.

Narrowing her eyes at the questionable choices Clarke is giving her, Lexa pouts, “Don’t they have regular toppings? Cheese, or pepperoni?”

“We should live a little, come on. Seriously, their shrimp and guac pizza is  _ divine _ .” Clarke does that little moaning sound again and Lexa can do nothing but take a deep breath in, stepping politely to the side so she can face the blonde fully.

“I’m allergic to shrimp,” Lexa shrugs, relying on her health issue to avoid having to taste what sounds like a miscellaneous collection she’s hardly looking forward to.

“I don’t want to find out what you look like all puffy and out of breath,” Clarke says and realizes the double meaning of her last couple of words half a second later, “Maybe I do want you out of breath, though.” She wiggles her eyebrows, letting out a laugh that bubbles on her chest, “Get half Spanish tapas and half Sloppy Joe. Or half either one, and your boring cheese”

“Cheese is hardly boring. But I’ll take your suggestion,” Lexa searches the flyer in her hand for what the fresh  _ hell _ a Sloppy Joe is - it sounds awfully American and she can’t say she’s looking forward to it. “Should we order beer to go with it? Sloppy Joe,” her tone is skeptical, at best, “doesn’t sound like a good match for wine.”

“Beer is fine for me. But if wine suits your more refined taste, Commander, I’m good with that too.” Clarke smiles as Lexa rolls her eyes. The nickname sounds much better coming from Clarke in this teasing tone. Lexa could really get used to it.

When she zeroes in on the phone number to place an order, she remembers, “Do you, um- Do you want to change into something else?” Lexa feels her neck getting hotter with the pointed look Clarke gives her, her own innuendo hitting her as soon as the words leave her tongue, “Pajamas. I mean pajamas. You can borrow some pajamas, if you want.”

Her babbling does nothing to help her with the embarrassment she feels, but Clarke laughs as she agrees. They walk into the room and Lexa once more shuffles through her pajamas, pulling out boxer shorts and a short-sleeve button-down top in a grey silky fabric that could send her to heaven - it’s comfortable and not revealing. She couldn’t make it through the night with Clarke in something revealing. 

She leaves Clarke alone to change, letting her know she’s more than welcome to choose another set if that one doesn’t fit, and goes back to the living area to place her order. Lexa feels almost silly as she orders a half Sloppy Joe, half Spanish tapas pizza, but it doesn’t beat how awkward she is when she asks for beer recommendations to the receptionist that answers her call for room service - he agrees to send her three different brands for her to choose her favorite for future reference. She thoroughly doubts she’ll ever order beer again.

Lexa tidies the coffee table as she waits for Clarke to come out - she left it a mess that morning, papers tossed everywhere, documents thrown together out of order, giving out a clear sense of how poorly she was doing. She can’t quite say she’s doing much better now, but she’s powering through in a more decent fashion.

She drops the stack of folders she needs to go through tomorrow on the small breakfast table near the window, placing the Russian novel she’s given up reading on top of it all. Hands on her hips, Lexa half wonders if she should throw some pillows on the floor for them to sit on or if they’ll merely use the coffee table as a place to keep the pizza and eat on the loveseat. 

It makes her belly ache at how clueless she is about being casual around someone who isn’t Costia.

“How was our first kiss?” Clarke’s voice comes softly from right behind her, making her jump and lift her hand to her chest. As she turns to face the blonde, words leave her completely.

Licking her lips, all Lexa can think is how she did not take into consideration how the curves in Clarke’s body were different from hers. The pajama set she had picked for Clarke was meant to be loose, leaving her body almost shapeless behind the fabric so they could talk without the lawyer’s mind wandering. But Clarke has thicker thighs, leaving the boxer shorts clinging to her skin, exposing more skin than should be allowed. But Clarke has bigger cleavage, the button down shirt barely keeping them half covered, more buttons popped than Lexa’s threshold for avoiding her gaze.

“You… It was…” her jaw is all but slacked open, eyes slowly traveling upwards and meeting amused blue eyes. She clears her throat, frowning to keep herself focused, “ _ What? _ ”

Clarke doesn’t even try to hide her smile, “I mean, when we met in my gallery.” She takes a step closer, flushing their bodies together, before walking past Lexa and to the other side of the living room, “And I’m guessing you wooed me with that ass that won’t quit and your sultry voice. How did it happen? Who kissed who, where did it happen?” She lets her voice drift, giving the idea that those aren’t the only topics they’re going to cover.

Lexa crosses her arms over her chest, “Do we need to know that?”

“It’s helpful.” Clarke shrugs, nifty fingers working her blonde tresses in a loose braid, “We don’t have to tell anyone, it’s just for us to know our history.”

“I guess…” Lexa bites down on her lower lip, taking a moment to imagine herself walking into a lost little gallery in the ends of Brooklyn and finding Clarke there. If she’s being truthful to herself, she’d be a shaking mess the moment her eyes met Clarke’s blue ones - but there’s no way in hell she’d admit that, “I guess I’d come back a second time,” Lexa lets herself picture Clarke in a braid just like that, welcoming her into her gallery with a streak of paint adorning the edge of her forehead. The mental image leaves Lexa giddy with nervous energy, the prospect of asking her out making her insides melt, “I’d try flirting a little, testing the waters to see if you were into me as well.”

“I’d like to hear that flirting.” Clarke gives her a lopsided smile, finishing her braid and taking a step towards Lexa.

Rolling her eyes, Lexa steps forward to meet Clarke halfway before even realizing what she’s doing, “Then we wouldn’t be dating. I’m awful at it.”

“I think you would’ve done just fine,” Clarke lowers her gaze to the plush rug underneath her feet before looking at Lexa through her eyelashes. If Clarke’s voice is heavy and almost breathy, neither say anything. For what feels like the tenth time in two already very long days, Lexa wonders how much of it all is merely an act, “But I’d have definitely flirted with you.  _ Shamelessly _ .”

It might be simply Clarke playing her part like a goddamn professional, but the glint in her blue eyes gives Lexa the courage she needs to start playing  _ her  _ part - and nothing more.

Lexa casts her gaze down, watching her toes sink into the rug as she takes one tentative step forward, before looking up to meet Clarke’s eyes, “Would it be okay if I kissed you in the gallery?” her voice is sultry, her eyes, intense, “Before asking you on a date?”

Clarke mouths something, looking almost like a fish trying to breathe when there’s no air, before finding her voice again, “It would be more than okay.” Clarke swallows audibly, “H-how would that go?”

“You-” Lexa tilts her head in question, empowered by Clarke’s momentary loss of words, “Do you want me to simply tell you?” Lexa takes another step towards her, standing dangerously close to the blonde. “Or show you?”

“ _ Show me _ .”

The energy between them grows heavier and thicker as Lexa allows herself to place a hand on the curve of Clarke’s waist, leaning in barely an inch closer. She had forgotten how much she missed this - the thrill of a first kiss, the butterflies going wild in her stomach in anticipation for her lips to touch someone else’s. Lexa has grown used to not kissing anyone, and in the past few days, she’s taken Clarke’s kisses for granted.

But this was something else.

For this moment - even if for this moment  _ only _ \- they are nothing but two girls, enjoying every torturous moment that keeps them from tasting each other.

Lexa feels Clarke placing one hand on her rib, her favorite spot by far, before her eyes flutter down to her lips. Lexa has full plump lips that can easily be turned red by the slightest pressure, so she bites on her bottom and drags her teeth across it. Clarke’s breath hitching in her throat tells her it worked.

The waiting feels unbearable by the time Lexa envelops Clarke’s lips with hers, holding still for a little while. If it’s a first kiss, it’s soft and tentative, all passion that is to come yet undiscovered. 

Her free hand finds Clarke’s jaw, fingers tangling lightly in the blonde tresses that fall from her braid, as Clarke reaches for her back, letting the pads of her fingers trail up Lexa’s spine, sliding easily across the silky fabric until they find the nape of her neck. Lexa sighs into the kiss, shivering at the light touch that makes her insides melt, and moves her lips against Clarke’s softly, taking the bottom one in between hers for a moment too long, letting it go only enough to mold their lips together once more.

Clarke breaks the kiss and leans back, hooded eyes struggling to leave Lexa’s mouth and find her eyes.

The wanting in them is undeniable.

Breathing feels foreign to Lexa when Clarke tugs at her neck, bringing her to another kiss, their lips opening together on their own accord - the tip of a tongue teasingly dragging across a bottom lip, never deepening the kiss too much. Lexa finds her way under Clarke’s button-down, sneaking between the half open space, splaying her hand on the warm skin. Clarke sighs into her mouth at the contact, her own hand leaving the spot under her ribs to search for any expanse of skin, and Lexa feels herself come alight.

She feels the kiss  _ everywhere. _

Her head is swimming in the feeling of Clarke’s fingertips burning everywhere they touch - the back of her neck, the underside of her breast, the dip in her throat, the sharp line of her jaw. An electric current courses through her body, until she’s nothing but energy gathering in her spine, her chest, every inch of her.

“ _ Room service! _ ”, a knock on the door follows the yelling, and Lexa can barely keep herself from falling down as she takes a sudden step back.

It takes Lexa a moment to gather her bearings, her breathing uneven and veins burning with how the kiss made her feel. She feels lightheaded and for the sake of not stumbling onto the floor trying to walk to the door, Lexa simply looks at Clarke. Braid almost falling apart and a deep frown framing hooded blue eyes, Clarke seems as torn as Lexa is.

Another knock on the door jolts her out of her borderline creepy staring and Lexa is on her feet to answer it. She’s glad the little hallway leading into the living area shields her from Clarke - she can barely keep herself from shaking as she steps aside for the bellboy to walk in and place the bucket filled with ice and bottles on the coffee table. She busies herself with finding money to tip him, pretending it takes way longer than it really does.

By the time she sends him on his way, Lexa feels more centered.

It was merely a kiss. A very good kiss, an incredible pretend first kiss that would have gotten Clarke a second date before they even had their first, but still - simply a kiss.

“You don’t drink beer often, do you?” Clarke teases as Lexa steps back into the living area, looking at the miscellaneous collection of brands and types sinking in ice. Lexa blinks slowly, doing her best to look innocently confused, and tilts her head in question, “You got  _ three  _ different types.  _ And _ three brands.”

“I didn’t know which one you liked best,” Lexa shrugs and dips her head as she walks towards Clarke, sitting beside her on the loveseat, making sure to keep a small distance. “If you have a favorite, we’ll send the rest back and pick that one.” It only now occurs to Lexa she  _ could _ have asked Clarke beforehand, as she is as indifferent to beer as Anya seems to be about reading for fun.

Clarke seems to be inspecting their stash - Lexa may have gone a little overboard with the beer, there’s no way they’d drink everything. “When was the last time you had a beer?” Her tone is amused and she quirks an eyebrow as she smirks at Lexa, almost daring her to pretend she wouldn’t choose a good brandy over beer in a second.

She goes with the truth. “Probably around halfway through law school.”

“Someone is getting silly drunk tonight,” Clarke singsongs and pops a bottle open, handing it to Lexa. “Let’s cover our firsts before you pass out on me. We have our first kiss.”  _ Yes, we do _ . It takes Lexa a second to accept the bottle, her mind flying back to the knot in her spine when Clarke’s lips left hers, “How would our first date go?”

Staring at the bottle in her hands, Lexa pretends this is the first time she’s considering what taking Clarke on a date would feel like. She traces the bottle with the pad of her index, leaving traces in the condensation fogging the glass - she remembers dreaming about it one night, probably the same one when she placed a call that left Anya to make fun of her for weeks afterwards.

She takes a swig from her bottle, following Clarke’s lead - it feels odd, to drink straight from a bottle, and Lexa wonders how much teasing she’d have to endure if she got a glass for her drink. The liquid flows easily down her throat, chilling and slightly bitter, and she realizes she isn’t half mad at how it tastes.

After what feels like five entire minutes of silence where they both slowly sip their drinks, foam forming on the top with each movement, Lexa describes the scenario she convinced herself she had never thought about before. “I’d take you to an Italian restaurant,” her voice is barely louder than a whisper, as if the vibration from her vocal cords could make this delicate moment fall apart, “One with no overhead lighting, merely candles on every table for illumination,” she doesn’t add that she imagines Clarke must look incredibly beautiful with only the warmth of candles lighting up her face, “We’d order wine and pasta,” because what else there is to eat at an Italian restaurant? Lexa feels silly, “Talk in hushed tones about first date topics.” Lexa thinking about telling Clarke how awkwardly shy she’d be, but she can only bury herself so much in a day, “At some point you’d probably laugh at something, or  _ at me _ , and disrupt the entire too romantic ambient the restaurant tried to keep.”

“Would you kiss me?” Clarke whispers when there’s a lull, and Lexa feels her breath hitting her cheek. She had come close enough that their arms touch, and their eyes, only a few inches apart, lock together.

_ Senselessly _ , Lexa almost says. She bites the word on the tip of her tongue and grips her beer tighter, leaning in closer to Clarke instead of answering. Their lips barely touch at first, and Lexa sighs into the kiss as Clarke reaches for her thigh and moves her lips until her tongue is peeking through Lexa’s.

The kiss breaks too soon. Opening her eyes feels like a chore to Lexa, and she can only do so after putting some distance between them - she blames the blue in Clarke’s eyes.

When she’s far enough to see Clarke, there’s a teasing smirk in her wet lips. “At the end of our date, I mean.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” is all Lexa can say as embarrassment fills her. Her face grows hot and she averts her gaze from Clarke just half a moment before the blonde bursts out laughing, the hand on Lexa’s thigh tightening its grip. Her laugh fills the room and Lexa can only roll her eyes, knowing her red cheeks will only amuse Clarke further, “A laugh like that is what would have us kicked out of that restaurant.”

That remark only makes Clarke laugh further. “I’m  _ kidding _ .” The blonde leans forward to place her beer on the coffee table, her laughter dying down in her throat until only a smile is left. To prove her point, she reaches for Lexa again, snaking her hand further up her thigh and cupping her cheek with a cold hand - that’s what makes her shiver, Lexa tells herself, not the kisses Clarke peppers on the underside of her jaw before kissing her again, “You’re so easy. No wonder we had to leave in the middle of the meal.” Clarke kisses her again, holding her close, and Lexa is powerless, “What about our first time?”

“Clarke,” Lexa dips her head as the blonde draws away, both sipping their beers almost as if to wash each other’s taste down so they could keep a conversation going, “I really don’t think discussing that is necessary.”

“But making you blush is so much fun,” Clarke says simply, drinking from her beer as she smirks at Lexa, who remains sternly silent, “Okay. I’ll take this one.” Lexa nods once, gripping the beer harder than she needed to as she gulps down twice as much as she had been doing so far in preparation for Clarke talking about them having sex. “It’d be after, um… Our  _ fourth _ date. I’d have been the one to ask you out for, do you like sushi?” Lexa nods again, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue when Clarke decides it’s a good idea to sit cross legged on the loveseat, leaving Lexa to struggle with  _ not _ staring at her exposed thighs, “Then after we eat, I’d say I have- god, what would I have? Cheap wine, I think. Would cheap wine lure you into going home with me?”

“That would suffice, yes,” Lexa doesn’t say that Clarke could ask her over to drink  _ water _ and she would still have followed. She resists the urge to roll her eyes at herself - the more they talk about being in a normal relationship, the less Lexa believes she’s immune to putting her heart on the line.

This will hurt. 

Sooner, rather than later.

“Good, so I lure you in with wine and my good looks,” Clarke finishes her beer in between a giggle, and urges Lexa to hurry up with a waving motion, before settling it on the floor and shifting her position until she’s facing sideways, one leg folded under her, the other stretched out across Lexa’s thighs. “We’d drink, we’d talk for a while. I could show you some paintings I’ve been working on- I always have like six paintings I’ve started but lost inspiration on and then pick up after a while, so there’s that,” Clarke’s eyes are cast on Lexa’s shoulder, and it makes Lexa wonder if the last part slipped out without Clarke’s conscious approval. 

With a last swig of her beer, Lexa places the empty bottle on the coffee table, her free hand gripping Clarke’s thigh to keep her legs from falling - that’s what she tells herself, but she keeps her hand near the absurdly high hem of her pajama shorts.

“I’d like to see it,” Lexa whispers before she realizes she’s forming the words, Clarke’s eyes snapping to hers, “Your gallery, your art, I- I’d really like to see it before I go back to Canada.”

“We can make it work,” Clarke smiles sincerely, and she scoots over until she’s flushed against Lexa’s side. She’s silent for a while, and Lexa lets her be the same way she did moments ago. Clarke works one hand under Lexa’s shirt, splaying it against her stomach and making her muscles flutter with the unexpected touching, as the other plays with the stray hairs at the nape of her neck, “Couch or bed?”

It takes Lexa a moment to realize what Clarke means, “For our first time?” Clarke nods as she plants kisses on the side of her neck, making her mind foggy, “Bed.” If her voice is hoarse and barely there, she ignores it.

Clarke hums against her neck, “I’d pretend I have some sketches in my bedroom then, and kiss you until you can’t breathe. Take off your top, take off my dress. Do you like me in a dress?” Her voice was low and heavy, and Lexa can barely muster a “ _ yes _ ” with Clarke’s tongue swirling against her pulse point, “I’d back you up to bed, fall on top of you and kiss you. Kiss your neck, your collar bone, bite the skin right above your bra,” Lexa forgets to breathe as Clarke does just what she’s saying, her hand tracing her skin until it reaches the underside of her breast, “What would you do to me?”

Lexa imagines herself snapping Clarke’s bra open so her breasts fall deliciously on her hands. She’s about to tell Clarke that, when she realizes that, if they keep this up, they won’t do a lot of talking. “We should probably stop.”

Clarke lets out her breath through her nose in a half laugh, going back to kissing the underside of Lexa’s jaw as her hand goes further up to tease a stiff nipple, “Why would you say that when I have your boob in my mouth?”

“I mean  _ now _ . We should stop this.” Lexa closes her eyes and leans into the touch, snaking her hand up Clarke’s inner thigh and into the edge of her shorts, all her reactions contradicting her words. Clarke pulls her neck until their lips meet, the calm and experimentation of their last kisses all forgotten in favor of the desperation they’re more used to. A dragging moan falls from Lexa’s lips as Clarke pinches her nipple, soothing it with her thumb just to do the same once again. The blonde shifts her hips, making it easier for Lexa to reach her panties and ease her thumb under them. She slides the pad of her thumb across Clarke’s slit, finding moisture that surprises her into breaking the kiss, “You’re wet.”

“You’re  _ not _ ?” Clarke asks, amused, seeking for her lips once more as she lets her hand lower into the waistline of Lexa’s shorts, probably to check that fact on her own. 

Lexa  _ is _ wet, almost unbearably so, but that’s hardly the point.

She quickly drags her hand out of Clarke’s shorts to wrap her fingers around the blonde’s wrist, stopping her movements - she’s very aware that, if Clarke touches her, they’re not talking at all. “We should stop.”

Clarke leans in for another kiss, a smirk firmly glued to her lips as she asks in a pointed voice, “Why?”

A knock on the door startles them both.

Pizza. The pizza boy is outside. 

Lexa lets go of Clarke’s wrist, reaching for her fingers instead as her heartbeat slowly returns to a normal rate. It feels like everyone they ordered things from this evening has an internal clock that says exactly when to come over so they interrupt something - Lexa can’t say she finds it annoying or amusing. A bit of both, maybe; the bellboy had interrupted an incredible, yet innocent kiss. The pizza boy is all but a life saver, giving Lexa a legitimate excuse to untangle herself from Clarke, getting to her feet and almost toppling over the coffee table in her urgency to get the door.

“Pizza is here,” Lexa says in lieu of an answer, hurrying to the door on her tiptoes.

She’s all the way to the little hallway when she looks back only to find Clarke lying down on the loveseat, knees folded and arms crossed on top of her, pouting as she half shouts, “That’s not the reason and you  _ know _ it.”

When she answers the door, laughter is bubbling from her chest.

Lexa forgets to pretend that they aren’t in a real relationship, that this isn’t a cozy night in with pizza and beers and apologies over dumb fights.

After thanking him for the pizza and tipping the boy who really didn’t seem older than fourteen, Lexa pads back to the living room, pushing the beer bucket aside to make room for the pizza box. She gives Clarke a quick glance - she’s now stretched on the loveseat, legs half hanging over the armrest, arms crossed over her eyes, lips still bent in a pout - before opening the lid to reveal a disastrous pizza. It looks like a child’s junk food induced nightmare, the toppings not really falling together like they should, but it smells like heaven.

Lexa wafts her hand over the steaming cheese, trying to send the smell over to Clarke - it seems to work, the blonde grunts and folds her legs again. Lexa laughs at the absurdly cute scene, reaching out and taking Clarke’s hands in hers, stretching their arms until she can start pulling Clarke’s weight forward.

“Come on,” Lexa draws the last vowel, bringing Clarke to an almost seated position. The blonde is mostly staring at her, grumpily letting herself being dragged out of the loveseat like a dead weight until she’s all but falling to the floor, “Clarke, you’re gonna fa-”

Clarke falls gracefully to the plush rug, like she was planning this all along, and pulls Lexa down with her. Lexa yelps and braces herself for hitting the floor face first, but Clarke is quick to cushion her and help her up, so they’re sitting side by side.

Lexa shoves Clarke’s shoulder playfully, with only the slightest hint of annoyance. Clarke answers with a stolen kiss, before reaching for a piece of pizza, taking the stringy cheese into her mouth first and then biting a big chunk of it.

Forgetting to pretend feels ridiculously easy.

“Which one is that?” Lexa eyes Clarke’s pizza as she reaches over to get two beers - and it’s a point of pride for her that it only takes her three tries to open them and she didn’t cut herself in the process, although the twist-off cap concept still feels savage for her.

“Spanish tapas. Here, try it.” Clarke says around the food in her mouth, taking the beer Lexa is offering her as she guides her own piece for her  _ girlfriend _ to take a bite.

Lexa isn’t as daring as Clarke and takes a dainty piece, trying to make sense of the taste. It doesn’t take much for her to open her eyes wide in approval, nodding as she swallows, “Oh, this is  _ good _ .”

“See, told ya I have good taste,” Clarke says in a smug tone, bumping her shoulder to Lexa’s and giving her the tiniest of kisses on her cheek, before attacking her slice like a teenage boy.

Rolling her eyes, Lexa scoots slightly away from Clarke to get a few paper napkins - something tells her Clarke will have her cheek greasy before they’re done, “Yeah, don’t let it go to your head though. You’re only halfway there. I’ll see how the Sloppy Joe one tastes before giving you any praise.” Getting a few napkins from the bunch, she picks a slice off the box and pats it down with her makeshift paper towel - those napkins are hardly absorbent, but the grease from the cheese is almost all off by the time she’s done with it.

“You’re taking half the taste off!” Clarke half shouts in horror, before settling back down, “ _ Of course _ , you pat down your pizza. I should have guessed.”

“Excuse me if I don’t want to my cholesterol to be off the charts,” Lexa says in an almost stern tone, and bites down on the considerably grease-free slice to ignore Clarke’s disapproving face. It tastes like heaven on earth and Lexa can’t help her moaning.

“I’ll be choosing the food at our wedding, then. That’s the deal.” Clarke clicks her tongue as she bites another chunk from her slice, all but dancing in place. Lexa doesn’t have it in her to roll her eyes or mock Clarke in any way.

Forgetting to pretend is the most natural thing Lexa has ever felt.

When all that is left are crusts and grease soaked napkins, they’re both filled with food-induced laziness. Lexa reclines against the loveseat, letting her eyes fall closed as she sips on the beer she decided it’s her favorite - just bitter enough to leave her wanting more, but still smooth as it could be. Clarke picks up Lexa’s leg and throws them on top of hers - “ _ for us to get used to each other skin on ours in a non-sexual way _ ” she had told Lexa in a voice so professional she couldn’t disagree -, leaning against them and all but nodding off.

They could go to bed right then. They could fall asleep right there, for all Lexa cared.

“Are you up for talking?” Clarke draws odd patterns on Lexa’s thighs and it’s lulling the lawyer further closer to the land of sleep and dreams.

Lexa sighs, struggling to open her eyes and sit straight, “Yep.”

Smiling at how informal sleepy Lexa sounds, Clarke keeps her fingers running across her legs as she reaches for another beer, “We can do only your side of things. I’ll go along with anything you tell them I like.” She takes a swig from her drink, and starts, “Are you a cat or a dog person?”

Her words wake Lexa up.

She completely ignores the question - that she hardly thinks is relevant at all - and reaches for Clarke’s chin, locking their eyes together. “I want to know you too, Clarke. Even if we never see each other again after this, even if-”  _ when,  _ when _ it all falls apart and becomes nothing but a ghost to haunt me _ , Lexa stops herself, licking her lips worriedly before continuing, “I want to get to know you.”

Clarke holds her gaze for a long moment, not saying anything, before dropping her eyes closed, “It can get ugly.”

Lexa leans forward and she knows - she  _ knows _ \- she’s pushing her limits. She doesn’t have the right to ask Clarke to disclose anything to her, the blonde made it clear that their relationship is nothing but professional. But Lexa will blame the beer for the buzz she feels as she presses her lips against Clarke’s temple, before touching their foreheads together “I want to know all of you, even the ugly parts. I’m-”  _ in love with all that you are _ , “If you’re willing to share, I want to know everything that makes you,  _ you _ .”

Feeling Clarke’s breath hitting her cheek, Lexa can tell she takes a deep breath as she reaches for her hand, intertwining their fingers together. Clarke tilts her head until she can kiss Lexa slowly and deeply, and neither dare to say another word about this moment once it’s over.

In the span of an hour in what feels like an odd combination of first few dates conversation and a twenty questions game, they learn virtually everything there is to know about each other.

They talk about their tastes in movies and music - Clarke likes action movies and anything she can dance to, while Lexa prefers period dramas and instrumental songs; about their hobbies - Clarke laughs herself into hiccups when Lexa says knitting calms her and the blonde thoroughly ignores Lexa’s eye rolling when she prides herself on watching all nine seasons of The X-Files in three weeks; about places they most want to visit - Clarke listens attentively while Lexa goes on and on about wanting to backpack through Eastern Asia, and Lexa smiles amusedly when Clarke tries to speak Portuguese to her, that she’s been practicing for when she travels to Brazil.

They cover an almost exhaustive list of favorites: color, hero, villain, vegetable, ice cream, restaurant, song, board game, movie director, school subjects, sport, cookie, cereal, season, drink, animal. 

For Clarke: all shades of blue, Captain America, someone from a children’s movie Lexa had never heard about, potatoes, despite Lexa insisting it’s a starch and doesn’t count, rocky road, a little place down 5th Avenue that serves homemade burgers, Blackbird by The Beatles, which surprised Lexa slightly, Monopoly, Woody Allen, art and history, baseball, chocolate chip, Cocoa Puffs, summer, tequila shots. 

For Lexa: black, Wonder Woman, the Evil Queen from Snow White, she couldn’t choose between broccoli and eggplant, peach ice cream, a tiny French place called Batifole Restaurant, she refuses to choose one single song and ends up promising to send Clarke a playlist with her favorites, chess, Martin Scorsese, math, which surprised Clarke a whole lot, basketball, oatmeal cookies with almonds and walnuts, Kashi honey almond, fall, wine.

Both women end up being cat people.

An array of questions that hardly seem fitting for anything other than 3am conversations between lovers help them make their way through the rest of the beers and what's left of the awkwardness between them. Everything is almost unbearably personal, and their hushed tone makes it feel like these questions that all but strip them open are the right ones.

They find out things about each other - and themselves - that had never even crossed their minds.

If Clarke could have dinner with anyone, it'd be Edgar Allan Poe - “ _ he wrote fucking brilliant things after losing his dad, lover, money and mind, guy is a hero” _ \- and for Lexa, it'd be Corella Scott King - “ _ she's done so much for us women to have equality and civil rights in a time where being a black woman felt like a crime” _ . They agree to make a dinner party out of it. Clarke doesn't rehearse phone calls before she makes them, but Lexa does, more often than not. Being famous in the paparazzi and award shows sense isn't something Lexa would like, but being a well renowned lawyer makes the list. Clarke wants her art to be recognized more than she wants to be an A list celebrity, and Lexa can't help her urge to assure her that  _ yes _ , one day everyone will know her art, even if she herself had never seen it.

Clarke sings to herself while cooking and hums some melody every time she's doing her hair, and while Lexa fiercely assures her she never sings because her pitch is awful. Clarke calls her out on how rosy her cheeks get and ends up getting a confession out of the too serious lawyer who sings along to her favorite songs while driving to work.

Their conversation takes a darker tone when Clarke asks Lexa if she has any secret hunches about dying - Lexa thinks it over for a little while before saying she might succumb to alcoholism, much like her father; Clarke merely frowns at that, squeezing her hands in a comforting gesture, and simply says she'll hopefully go mad with how incredible her art is, much like Van Gogh. Rolling her eyes, Lexa squeezes her hand back, letting her know she appreciates her lightening the mood.

Sharing embarrassing moments has them both laughing until their bellies hurt - Clarke almost leaves her hand print on Lexa's thigh as she's gasping for air after Lexa told her an absurd story that involved getting locked outside her car, in the rain, with a broken heel and her boss yelling at her on the phone for being late. It takes a solid five minutes for Clarke to stop laughing and get herself composed enough to tell Lexa the mortifying story about how she tripped and fell on top of a naked model for one of her classes, bringing down a collection of fabrics and lights. A few people sketched the scene and gifted it to Clarke, which made Lexa feel remarkably better about her own story.

Pizza gone cold and beer forgotten, Lexa finds herself leaning forward every time Clarke shares something and Clarke keeps running her hands up and down Lexa’s legs, either when she’s talking or listening to Lexa, who keeps her feet safely tucked under the blonde’s thigh.

“What piece of clothing do you like the most?” Clarke says absentmindedly, playing connect the dots with the few freckles littering Lexa’s calves.

Lexa wrinkles her nose at Clarke, “I thought we were done with the favorites.”

“We are, but this is important,” her voice is serious and for a moment, Lexa believes her, but then realizes it’s mostly teasing, “I’ll go first then. A dress. I’d cry if anything happened to that dress. It has a flower print, spaghetti straps, and it’s so loose. I feel so… I don’t know, without any worries when I wear it.”

It’s in the little things that Clarke reveals herself, Lexa considers and blatantly refuses to admit that they’re the perfect match when it comes to that, “Mine is a leather jacket. It’s about a decade old, I bought it with my first paycheck. It’s worn out and I can’t go to many places with it without being judged, but it reminds me of simpler times.” On a whim, Lexa adds, “I'd like to see you in that dress sometime.”

“Guess we'll have to meet in the summer then,” Clarke winks at her, and Lexa's stomach drops. She hasn't allowed herself to wonder if they'd ever see each again after New Year's and this simple sentence ignites something within Lexa -  _ hope _ . Before she can process it, Clarke moves on, “What would your superpower be?”

Lexa blinks her thoughts away, frowning, “If I were a superhero, you mean?” Clarke nods, resuming her task on Lexa's leg of connecting her freckles, trying to find figures as she drags her nails across the smooth skin, “I guess enhanced healing would be pretty useful.” She doesn't mention that if she had that superpower, she'd be able to heal her heart and her mind from all the grief. She'd have been able to save Costia. Then she thinks about something lighter, “Oh,  _ mind control _ ! I'd never lose a case ever again. What about you?”

“You little minx, wanting to use your superpowers for evil,” Clarke laughs as she shakes her head with a mockingly scolding look on her face, before dropping it to a pensive one, “Mind reading. That's what I want. I wanna know what other people are thinking, what they're  _ really _ thinking, instead of what they want me to know. It's selfish, isn't it?”

“I want to use my powers for evil, I guess you're a better person for simply wanting to use it for personal reasons,” Lexa feels warmth spreading across her chest when Clarke gives her a small smile. “Who would you want to use it on?”

“You, for starters,” Clarke's answer is on the tip of her tongue, spilling out as soon as prompted. Lexa stares at Clarke, carefully waiting for a follow up, well aware her expression is little more than a huge question mark. Clarke averts her eyes back to the floor, “I'm usually good at reading people. Especially... well, my clients.” Clarke bites the inside of her cheek so hard Lexa can see it. For a moment, Lexa considers changing positions, but she can't take her eyes out of Clarke's eyelashes, she can't move, “I can tell what they like, if they're feeling something I could work on, their needs and wants- I can see that as clear as day, but not with you. I feel like I'm always guessing, going in with my eyes closed.” Lexa is taken aback by Clarke's words. She's spent the last few days trying her damn hardest to not let anything show while knowing she's giving it out in a silver platter - apparently not. “I can't tell if I'm doing my job right.”

Right, it's simply a job for Clarke - nothing more, Lexa reminds herself.

“ _ Clarke _ ,” Lexa's voice is softer than she means it to be, “You- I have no complaints. There’s nothing I could want that you’re not giving me.”

There is one thing.

One damn impossible thing.

Clarke smiles at her, a sincere smile that makes her look younger than usual, and Lexa’s chest comes alight once more. She takes a deep breath, but Clarke drops the topic, “What do you do when you’re having a tough day?”

Lexa thinks about it for a long while, her gaze drifting to the empty beer bottles arranged in a line on the coffee table. “It depends on what makes it hard,” Lexa swallows as she decides to drop the whole truth on Clarke, “If it’s work, I usually take a bath, drink wine and listen to a podcast to take my mind off of it before tackling it again. If it’s something I inflicted on myself, I eat and go to bed as early as possible,” she pauses, “If it’s Costia’s memory, I drown myself in pictures of her and whiskey.”

“Doesn’t seeing pictures of her makes it worse?” Clarke tries to hold her gaze, but Lexa is quick to drop it.

“It does.” Lexa smiles - a sad smile that could be paired with tears that she won’t allow to come - and runs her hands over her exposed thighs, “I don’t allow myself to feel the pain. Maybe a part of me believes looking at her builds some sort of resistance. I’m always surprised when it doesn’t.”

Clarke reaches for Lexa’s hand, stilling them on her knees and playing with her thumb across the back of her hand. “I do the same with my dad’s things. I-” Clarke stares at their joined hands for a long moment, “He died when I was a freshman in college. It was an accident in the construction he was overseeing, he was the engineer in charge and someone had done a poor foundation job and, well.”

Squeezing Clarke’s hand, Lexa barely manages for her voice to work as she says, “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

“I wore his watch for a few months, but it became too painful. So I kept it in a box along with all the weekly letters he wrote to me saying how much he missed me, our pictures together, a few useless trinkets he always got me,” Clarke clings to Lexa's hand, intertwining their fingers together as Lexa scoots over, resting their tangled hands on top of her knee, “It made me realize life is too short to not do whatever you want, you can die at any time. That’s when I told my mom I was transferring from biochemistry to art and, well, she lost it. She's dreamed about me becoming a doctor as she is her whole life, and well, at first I wanted it too. I've always wanted to help people. Her dream fell apart only a few months after my dad died and, yeah, it got ugly.” Lexa reaches for Clarke's hair with her free hand, tucking a loose strand behind her ear and letting it run across her neck until her fingers find the fine hair at the nape of her neck, 'In the end, she said she wouldn’t pay for my tuition and that I’d have to find somewhere else to stay. It was a tough semester. I got a few odd jobs and more loans than I could ever dream to pay back with an artist’s salary. That’s when I got into escorting.”

The silence stretches wildly between them, and Lexa lets her fingers go deeper into Clarke's hair, running her nails lightly on the blonde's scalp. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” Lexa says in barely more than a whisper, finding herself unable to stand there and not comfort Clarke, “You don’t have to share just because I did.”

Only then does Clarke raise her eyes to Lexa's, locking them together and sending a shiver down Lexa's spine - the blue in her eyes had grown to a royal blue, and it's  _ magnificent _ . But Lexa knows what it means, knows how hard Clarke must be fighting her tears.

“I want to.” Clarke replies in a cracked voice, lowering her head until her cheek rests against their tangled hands, “Would you listen?”

Lexa feels her own throat closing with something she can't name. She wonders how many times Clarke had tried to talk and no one would stop to hear it. The thought makes her tighten her grip on Clarke's face, her other hand now running through the locks, making the braid fall apart. “Yes, of course,” is all Lexa can manage to squeak out and she can only hope it sounds as sincere as she feels.

Clarke takes a deep breath, or as deep as her position allows her, and bites her lip before starting, “Well, the first agency I found, it was… a mess. I found it online, with barely any references, but I needed that kind of money and fast. So I got in, I got my first few clients, I found out I was good at it. And I liked the sex. I liked earning money from doing something I’d be doing for free anyway. I stayed three years in that agency, but I never felt safe. The money was good, I was paying my tuition and I could pay for a studio with ease. But that agency… “ Lexa runs her fingers through Clarke's hair, untangling a knot here and there, as she listens to her intently. She can tell it's the first time Clarke allows herself to say these words, her voice cracking and faulting. “It was a bad agency. I got lucky, I guess, I’d never had anything particularly bad happen to me, only things like guys sticking it in different holes without bothering with lube or changing condoms, nothing I wasn’t expecting when I got into this. Then a girl got raped and beat up by a client. That’s when I thought about quitting. That's the first time I felt shame.”

Clarke closes her eyes and Lexa feels more than sees a tear falling to her knee.

She can't stay still. Lexa leans forward to press a kiss to Clarke's temple, lingering for a few moments, “You have nothing to be ashamed about, Clarke,” Lexa whispers against her cheek, feeling another tear joining the first one, “It's a job as honorable as any other.”

“Hardly anyone thinks like that.” Clarke sniffs and cracks a sad smile before continuing, “I found other agencies with stricter rules, better security, a thousand protocols and honestly more paperwork than you'd think. I'm-” Clarke works her jaw and opens her eyes again, holding Lexa's gaze, “I'm happier at my job now. It's safe, I'm good at it and the money comes with fun, most of the time. I'm- I’m not gonna say it didn’t fuck me up. It did.” Clarke pauses and closes her eyes for a long moment, before opening them again, avoiding Lexa's eyes this time, “I don’t think I can ever have a normal relationship again.” Lexa stills her hand and wipes at the trail a tear left in Clarke's cheek, and her heart  _ breaks _ . She wants to tell Clarke that yes, of course she can - but she doesn't know that. “I tried, a few times, but it all goes down the drain sooner than later. But I made friends. Some of my regulars feel more like old friends than clients - we go out, we have sex, we talk.” Clarke meets her eyes again, the fragility in them stealing Lexa's breath, “ I found a friend in you, as well. I don’t know if the feeling is mutual, but I’m glad I get to spend these weeks with you. I guess I found a way to help people after all.”

Her smile is tiny, almost not there, but Lexa is glad to see her eyes are dry now, and leans down to kiss her cheek once more, her lips brushing her skin as she whispers, “It is mutual, Clarke.” She leans back so she can meet deep blue eyes when she finishes her thought, “Despite my disgusting behavior earlier, I’ve come to care about you, much more than is wise, even.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Clarke smiles wide and bright, a soft laugh bubbling in her chest, “ _ Damn right  _ you did,” Lexa sits up in surprise, eyes confused as she keeps her hands on her belly and stares at Clarke’s sudden chipper spirits, “Babbling about me for two months straight. What a fucking sap.”

The moment is gone and Clarke is making fun of her. Of course.

“You sure know how to ruin the mood,” Lexa says in an almost somber tone, pursing her lips as Clarke’s laugh fills the room. She can’t say the sight makes her mad, but it’s a fake happiness - too sudden to be real, emerged from somewhere too dark to last.

Clarke breathes in with a smile on her face, coming to her knees and looking at Lexa with the most amused look ever. “Um, my grumpy butt,” Clarke exclaims before throwing herself on top of Lexa, her back knocking on the floor with a soft thud. “Shit, sorry!”

Letting a laugh flow out of her, Lexa reaches for Clarke’s hair, fingers tangling in golden tresses as she wraps her legs around her waist, keeping her close. Clarke leans on her elbows to take some of her weight off of Lexa and kisses the corner of her mouth.

Lexa knows where this is going.

Instead of kissing her full on, Clarke merely trails kisses down her cheek, down her neck, down her collarbone and coming back to kiss her pulse, beating wildly, all humor dying down and being replaced by heavy breathing.

The jaw-cracking yawn Lexa lets out takes both of them aback.

Clarke stops the kisses and looks at Lexa, nuzzling her nose against her cheek as she whispers against her jaw, “Someone can’t handle her beer.”

Grunting in silly denial, Lexa pulls Clarke down for another kiss, “I’m not even buzzed, it only made me sleepy.” Her lips finally meet Clarke’s in a proper kiss, tongue peeking out only enough to make Clarke sigh against her. Lexa silently decides she prefers kissing like this to how they were kissing before - passion is incredible, even more when it's with Clarke, but taking it slow has its perks. 

Breaking the kiss, Clarke smiles against her lips, placing the lightest peck on her top lip, “That’s what beer does to rookies,  _ rookie _ .” Lexa keeps her unshakable cool and sticks her tongue out like she's a five year old who just lost an argument, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Lexa lets herself follow Clarke to a seated position, but holds her still before they get up, “Will you stay?” Her voice cracks and she knows -  _ she knows - _ her eyes are pleading. But after everything that happened tonight, she doesn't want to sleep alone. 

“I will,” Clarke whispers and pulls herself to her feet, reaching for Lexa and helping her get up as well. They're standing close, toes touching toes, and Clarke reaches around her waist with one arm in a half embrace and reaches for her chin, tipping it until her eyes are on hers. 

“Until morning?”

“Until morning.” Clarke answers in a heartbeat and only for this night, Lexa lets herself believe that Clarke wants this as much as she does. 

Lexa lets herself be guided towards the bathroom, where Clarke sets up her toothbrush and a spare one she found in the drawers. They brush their teeth together, looking at each other in the mirror and Lexa almost gags with the foam in her mouth when Clarke knocks her hips against hers, sending her flying towards the opposite wall. For a moment Clarke looks at her startled, but joins her in laughing after the foam is out of her mouth and she can breathe again. 

In the end, Clarke is the one who coughs up minty foam. 

Not much later, Lexa is watching Clarke fold the covers back and climb into bed, her body folding into itself as she murmurs “ _ so comfy” _ against the pillow Lexa is most used to sleeping on. She climbs in on the other side of the bed, lying on her side and gazing at Clarke’s relaxed face, the ghost of a smile lighting up her semblant. 

“Big spoon or little spoon?” Clarke says against the pillow, her voice muffled by the fabric. She opens one eye, catching Lexa’s blatant staring and now confused face. “We’re cuddling. Do you wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

“We’re cuddling.” Lexa repeats, almost without believing it. She considers her options for a moment and scoots over closer to Clarke, turning her back to her halfway through the mattress. They can switch later, but for now, she can’t think of anything she wants more than Clarke’s arms around her waist.

Clarke hums happily as she molds her body around Lexa’s, their legs intertwining on their own accord as one arm slides under her shirt to splay over her belly, the other almost cushioning her head under the pillow they share. Lexa closes her eyes and forgets that she’s smiling until her cheeks start hurting and Clarke’s breath on her neck grows more even.

“Clarke?” She prompts and later she’ll blame the beers, blame the heavy and deep conversation, blame the sleepiness and sense of home filling her from her head to her toes. Her answer comes in barely a grunt, Clarke clearly less awake than she is - it’ll have to do. “Can I ask you something?”

Taking a deep loud breath and moving behind Lexa to wake herself up a little, Clarke answers in a sleepy voice, still filled with teasing, “We’ve been doing that for the past four hours.” She lays a kiss on the curve of Lexa’s neck, “Sure you can.”

Lexa wonders if she should turn around and face Clarke to ask her this - all the heaviest questions of their little question and answer game had been done green on blue, focused and attentive. But she can’t. She merely lets her hand fall on top of Clarke’s on her belly, before letting the words spill from her mouth like a sour liquid she can’t hold in any longer, “Have you ever fallen for a client?”

The world goes still. She can swear Clarke has stopped breathing much like she has, and the only thing real in that moment is her heart hammering painfully against her ribcage. In the moments Clarke takes to have any reaction at all, Lexa imagines possible scenarios - from the one she’s been dreaming about like a schoolgirl with a crush to Clarke leaving her for good.

She gets something in between.

“I have,” Clarke’s voice is tiny, and Lexa feels her breath coming out in long drawn out puffs. Their fingers intertwine in an odd way, Lexa’s palm to the back of Clarke’s hand, both closing around each other, and Clarke continues, “I promised myself never to allow myself to fall ever again, I-” Clarke pulls Lexa closer to her and Lexa goes willingly, closing her eyes against the stubborn tears that insist on forming, “I still have the scars. I can’t put fresh ones on top.” 

Clarke doesn’t elaborate. Lexa doesn’t push.

She has her answer.

  
  



	5. december, 23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main reason this chapter took so damn long, besides finals almost murdering me, the holidays madness and my muse throwing temper tantrums every other day, is that I'm not really confident on my fluffy writing skills. And this chapter is little more than a giant pile of cuteness and babies being cute. Every once in a while I'd pause and just groan because they were constantly so sappy and sweet I had to take insulin shots.
> 
> I couldn't be more grateful for all the love and support you guys give me, all the comments and messages really make my day! Things should go back to normal now, I'm really sorry it took me so long to update, but I hope this 20k word massive chapter makes up for the waiting!

**_DECEMBER 23RD_ **

Clarke speeds past a yellow light, her knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as the car roars with the added gas - a starking contrast with how soft her touch is on Lexa’s thigh. Lexa is oddly at ease with her borderline reckless driving and she can’t help herself as her mind travels back to the last words she had told Clarke before falling back asleep.  _ I trust you _ . It rings even more true now, as Clarke almost across lanes without using her turn signal, only one hand on the steering wheel, than it did when she was spilling her deepest secrets.

Lexa trusts Clarke won’t crash and kill them both.

They’re rushing through the wild New York traffic to get to the restaurant in time for their reservation, and Lexa can’t find it within herself to feel guilty about making them late - kissing Clarke under the sneaky mistletoe someone had hung beside the Christmas tree in the hotel lobby was worth looking unprofessional for.

She trusts Clarke much more than it’s wise.

Forgetting her usually pristine posture in favor of a comfortable slouching position against the leather seat, Lexa keeps her eyes trained on the road ahead of her, half listening to the cheerful tune coming out of the radio as her left hand drifts on its own accord to find Clarke’s so their fingers are intertwined. As she watches cars being left behind and passersby jumping at the last second before the car hits them, Lexa lets her mind wander, her thumb mindlessly drawing patterns on the back of Clarke’s hand.

When she woke up in the morning, or more truthfully, only two hours ago - Lexa had slept in past  _ ten in the morning _ for the first time in her adult life, but she was willing to brush it away as catching up on sleep and nothing to do with having a warm body wrapped safely against hers -, Lexa had felt cold, and it had little to do with her being naked with only a sheet covering her. Clarke had woken up earlier and, apparently, one night was enough to make her miss the blonde’s body pressed against her, as if she had already grown so used to having her close that her body was dependent on Clarke’s warmth for maintaining its own heat. 

The first thing she noticed after waking up was the soft ache between her legs, a reminder of 3am kisses and soft sighs that don’t belong to any other hour of the day - the bruise Clarke’s teeth made on the skin under her ribcage will serve as proof of all the talking and picking scars open they did last night. The second was the mattress dipping beside her, a hand lightly brushing her hair away from her face, the sun giving Clarke’s blonde hair an ethereal quality when Lexa finally found it in her to turn to face Clarke, opening her eyes ever so slightly.

She had blamed her warm wide smile on both being half asleep and Clarke’s hair tickling her neck when she leaned down to kiss Lexa good morning - she knew it was more than simply that. Between hushed  _ good morning _ s and  _ see you soon _ s, spoken as if a louder tone could break the serenity of that moment, Lexa had watched Clarke go back to her place to get ready, promising to come back in a bit with her lips pressed against Lexa’s temple before waving her goodbye, leaving her feeling like her heart had grown three times its size.

Lexa didn’t allow herself to think much as she went through the motions of showering, brushing her teeth, fixing her hair and applying make up, calling the office to have them deliver her all the paper with the conditions the firm is proposing in order to get these new clients to sign in. But after ordering a good breakfast with strong coffee and some juice with at least six veggies and fruits to flush all the grease from the pizza and all that beer out of her system, she was left with nothing to do but wait - and  _ think _ .

Last night had been much more than she had bargained for. 

When they came back from Lincoln’s, Lexa could swear Clarke would at the very least slap her - that’s what she would have done, had she been in Clarke’s shoes. Her words to the blonde had been cruel and raw and untrue, said in a moment of weakness that she translated into anger and threw at someone who didn’t deserve it. And it frightened her how awful she could be to someone who had done nothing but respect and help her in these last few days, holding her hand when she needed, stepping away when she couldn’t handle it, and giving her much more than sex and a fake relationship.

She had been ready to come up with an excuse and shower her mother in promises that she would meet Clarke during the Easter holidays, only to “break up with her” a few weeks prior. But Clarke had been understanding to a point Lexa had doubted it could even be real. 

But it had been real, it is real, sometimes it feels  _ too  _ real.

Clarke’s change from anger to light flirting had come as a surprise. Her touching and kissing felt familiar, and left Lexa aching. When she curled around her knees like a child seeking comfort and cried as she spilled out a story that made Lexa vibrate with want to find her mother and punch her as hard as she could, that’s when Lexa realized how real it all really was.

And now she knows how deep she is falling. 

Oh, how she wants to keep falling, further and further and further, as long as Clarke’s hand is tucked into hers.

Last night had been a thousand dates condensed into one. It had everything - from light flirting about Clarke’s favorite actress reminding her a bit of Lexa to opening themselves raw and spilling out all the secrets left to rot inside.

Last night had been when Lexa finally admitted to herself she’s in love with Clarke. 

She’s in love with the escort she hired to play pretend with.

Nothing good can come out of this.

And Lexa is willing to suffer every consequence.

She doesn’t quite realize how deep into her own head she has gotten until Clarke squeezes her hand softly to call her attention, tearing her out of her reverie. Lexa’s been so lost in her own thoughts she can’t even pinpoint what street they’re at, but it doesn’t take her long to realize they’re at a red light and Clarke is puckering her lips, murmuring a “ _ kiss _ ” as she leans in despite the seatbelt clearly restraining her movements.

Smiling at how much this looks like a romantic comedy scene - set in the 80s, a high school drama that could’ve ended badly if not for the main character swiping in and saving the day -, Lexa unbuckles her seatbelt and leans in until her lips meets Clarke’s. It starts as a merely brushing of lips, as soft as all their kisses have been starting since yesterday, then growing deeper as the movements puts muscle memory into work, tongues sliding against each other, their sighs matching. Their hands remain intertwined on Lexa’s thigh as she brings her free hand to Clarke’s loose hair, careful not to mess it up - they still have a business lunch to attend, after all. Clarke breaks the kiss for a moment, only long enough for a sigh to leave her lips and find Lexa’s, before it starts again, heavier and deeper this time.

The car behind them slams their horn, the nasty sound being so obnoxiously annoying that they part - Lexa could have stayed in that kiss until eternity claimed her, but the other driver clearly has other plans. Shifting back to her seat after realizing she had all but climbed Clarke’s lap, Lexa watches in amusement as Clarke goes from furious at having their little makeout session interrupted to apologetic for holding traffic as the light had turned green. Letting go of Lexa’s hand to grip the steering wheel with both hands, Clarke spurs into action - she presses the gas pedal hard enough for Lexa to feel her entire body being pushed against the leather seat and her stupid, in love brain forgets to send her any feelings of fear.

Going sixty miles per hour on an avenue is hardly something that makes Lexa anything other than panicked, let alone smile warmly at the sight of Clarke leaning forward towards the wheel, the tip of her tongue peeking from between her lips as she focus on switching lanes to avoid crashing into cars, the turn signal forgotten to her.

Stupid, stupid brain, drowning in love and adoration for the most reckless driver known to man.

They speed through six blocks, all lights blessedly green, before they reach another red light - which makes Clarke slams her breaks with both feet, the seat belt crushing her ribcage with the impact. Instead of being scared, Lexa laughs softly, merely a sound on the back of her throat, enjoying the adrenaline rush - which is oddly new to her after spending years driving slower than a senior citizen with bad eyesight after her car crash. Only when Clarke turns to look at her and catches her eyes does Lexa realize she’s been staring at the blonde this whole time. Clarke frowns at her and snorts, before bursting into a hearty laughter by the time the light turns green again.

“What is it?” Lexa asks with the hint of a smile on her lips. Clarke’s laugh fills the air and Lexa finds out she isn’t strong enough to keep a straight face in front of that sound, even if it sounds a lot like Clarke is mocking her. They make a turn and Clarke can’t quite catch her breath as she maneuvers through the skinny and cramped street the restaurant is at - miraculously, or rather thanks to Clarke’s insane driving, they’ve made it on time.

Clarke takes a deep breath in, trying to quell her laughter as she finds a parking spot, “You have lipstick  _ all over _ your face.” 

Lexa freezes for a moment, her eyes growing wide as Clarke slowly tries to parallel park in a spot that is barely big enough for her car, an amused smile still glued to her face. Reaching inside her handbag for her makeup pouch, Lexa fusses for a second until she finds her compact powder, using the small mirror to assess the damage - sure their kiss was hot and heavy, but Clarke’s makeup was intact, how bad could hers be?

She all but gasps at her reflection, mildly annoyed as she fishes a tissue out of her purse and wipes the remaining lipstick out of her lips, along with the smudged bits that somehow made their way near her  _ cheek. _ It’s nothing she can’t fix with a little powder to leave her skin even again - which she does, fast and efficiently as Clarke’s expression turns back into a frown when her attempts at parking are clearly unsuccessful.

As embarrassing as it feels to be about to enter a business meeting with her lips slightly swollen from kissing, Lexa can’t regret it - not when Clarke was the one to initiate a kiss for no other reason than to  _ kiss her _ , as if even thinking about waiting a few hours before they could touch again felt like too much. As she searches through her make up pouch for a lipstick that could make do, Lexa lets her mind wanders for the briefest moment.

Maybe,  _ maybe _ , Clarke feels something for her. It’s a long shot - an almost impossible shot, a delusion from her absurd brain that insists on coming up with lies that make her fuzzy - but it’s a maybe. Her kind gestures, her warm smiles, her impromptu makeout session in the middle of traffic, her content sighs against Lexa’s skin when they fell asleep together - it can’t be all simply because she’s good at pretending. 

Only when Clarke huffs frustratedly and swerves the car away from the curb to park somewhere easier is that Lexa gives up on finding a lipstick,  _ any _ lipstick because she clearly didn’t consider she might need it and didn’t bother bringing one. The blonde seems vaguely annoyed that she couldn’t get the parking spot she wanted - and  _ god _ , if it doesn’t make her look endearing - but puts her car on park anyway, unbuckling her seatbelt to look at Lexa, “You’re ready?”

“I didn’t bring any lipstick and I look anything but professional with swollen lips,” there’s no regret in her voice and she’s not blaming Clarke - she did enjoy how she got her lips lips that, but it’s an inconvenience. Lexa tightens her jaw in annoyance, closing her eyes and breathing in through her nose. This is an important meeting - both clients insisted she would be the one attending it and personally handling anything that might come out of it. Showing up looking less than pristine bruises her ego and her ability to perform confidently. Before she can manage to focus in breathing, Lexa can feel herself directing her annoyance at Clarke, “How do you look so good? We kissed the same amount.”

Luckily, Clarke takes it as a teasing, laughing heartily as she reaches for the backseat, fussing with whatever mess she keeps there and won’t let Lexa even peek at, “Long lasting lipstick and setting spray, babe,” Lexa rolls her eyes and pouts, knowing she looks more like an annoyed teenager than a professional business woman. Clarke has an amused smile lighting up her face when she sits back on the seat, a make up pouch on her lap. After searching through it, she decides on a peach shaded lipstick and uncaps it so she can apply on Lexa’s lips, “Come here, we’ll fix you in a second.”

Logically, Lexa knows it’d be much more practical if she herself applied the lipstick and they’d be getting into the restaurant in less than a minute. But something about the way Clarke holds her cheek with one hand, thumb grazing her chin to keep it steady, gives Lexa pause. And so she lets Clarke do her makeup and focus on how Clarke’s lips open softly as if mimicking her own, the way her blue eyes are focused on her lips, notices the lightest freckles peppering her cheek.

Her heart beats wildly without her consent, and for once, it doesn’t feel out of place. She’s about to lift her hand and trace the line of her jaw when Clarke pulls back, urging her to check the results on the mirror. Lexa blinks and nods and pretends to see her reflection, gathering all papers she needs before stepping out of the car.

Taking a moment to search the heavy snowy clouds for a sign of clear sky, Lexa prays to any god willing to listen to quell the monster emerging from her heart.

Clarke meets her in the sidewalk before she can get her heartbeat down to a reasonable rhythm again - the staccato pounding against her ribcage reminds her of how hard her heart would beat whenever she was near Costia, even if they were in the library studying for finals and they haven’t showered for two days. 

Back then, feeling her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest, each beat being visible through the band shirt she had borrowed from her girlfriend, she would be brutally reminded of how in love she was with that girl and every detail of her dark skinned face, tight curls and easy smile.

Now, with her heart fighting every scar tissue that has been piled on top of previously scarred tissue to expand more and more, she feels it again. She’s more cautious this time, she has experience to tell her it’s awfully risky, the reasonable part of her brain says it’s pointless to allow herself to feel it when it’ll come down to pieces in a week - but, by god, she feels all the love her heart can manage.

She smiles wide and bright, amusement bubbling the hint of a laughter in her chest as she watches Clarke fight against the wind to keep her hair out of her face. Shifting the small pile of folders she brought to her future clients to the same arm her bag is secured, Lexa reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear - which is as helpful as trying to extinguish a fire with a spray bottle, but Clarke smiles at her nonetheless. 

Clarke gives up on fixing her hair and takes Lexa’s hand in hers, leading them towards the restaurant. It’s only a few feet away, but for Lexa, it feels like miles - she lets her fingers curl around Clarke’s, shifting her body closer as she could get while still being able to walk without bumping into her. Their breaths come out in little clouds of warm air, and Lexa can’t even pretend her quick heartbeat and difficult breathing has nothing to do with Clarke’s thumb grazing the back of her hand.

Her brain is  _ screaming _ for her to get a grip on herself and stop acting like a kid who just found out what having a crush is. Her heart screams back that she doesn’t care if she makes a fool of herself, she finally,  _ finally _ , has a name for the wrenching feeling in her gut, the prickling of her skin, the comforting knowledge that all the stars aligned to make Clarke exactly the way she is.

She’s in love.

The gush of warm air that hits them as they enter the restaurant is a blessing and they untangle their hands to shed their coats, all the layers feeling suffocating now. Lexa asks for her reservation while Clarke fixes her hair, and it’s not long before they’re sitting side by side at a table for six.

They wait for their guests mostly in silence, only the occasional comment about the decoration or what they’re thinking about ordering breaking it. It’s oddly comfortable to be quiet with Clarke as the blonde plays with Lexa’s fingers - Lexa watches amused as Clarke intertwines them and pile them one way or the other, before settling on a arrangement for a while and drawing odd patterns on the back of her hand. Lexa sips on her water and gazes at Clarke and it’s scaringly easy to fall into a bubble where the entire universe consists of them both with their hands intertwined on the edge of their table.

Much too soon her future clients come in and they part, their little bubble being burst to accommodate people that don’t belong in it. They both get up and Lexa makes the proper introductions, also being introduced to their wives. Relief floods her as Clarke immediately jumps into a conversation with both women without any trouble, and Lexa is nothing but glad that she doesn’t have to make sure their wives are entertained as their husbands flood her with questions. She tunes out that conversation and shifts into her corporate lawyer persona, presenting her firm to the two businessmen and answering whatever questions they may have.

Between expensive whiskey that goes down like water and meals that go mostly untouched, Lexa focus solely on the two men in front of her, discussing details regarding what they expect from her firm, how she and her team could go on about it, what are their needs regarding legal advice - she even gives some out for free, making sure to let them know how well versed she is in what she does. 

As much as she tries to give them her undisclosed attention, Lexa finds herself looking for Clarke every now and again. Her gaze wanders towards Clarke whenever she laughs - a dainty and inhibited laugh, nothing like she does when the two of them are alone - and her mind goes a bit fuzzy when Clarke decides it’s not a big deal to rest her hand on Lexa’s thigh. It shouldn’t be, but Lexa’s stoic face still falters and she has to forcefully peels herself from the warmth that Clarke brings her to give her clients an answer they were waiting for.

She takes notes, asks questions and answers a lot more, and by the time they’re wrapping up their meeting, she feels confident about their business deal. Lexa bids them goodbye, letting them know she’ll be emailing them a preview of their contract for their appreciation in the first week of January.

Lexa lets herself fall back on her seat, her posture slouching now that they’re alone as she bends her neck this way and that to release the tension that had pooled there. “Do you want to, um- do you want to stay a little longer?” Lexa suggests as her eyes find Clarke’s, who’s staring attentively at her, “One last glass of wine before we call it a day?”

Clarke smiles and nods politely, scooting her chair closer to Lexa’s until their knees are touching. If she’s tired and ready to go home, Lexa can’t tell at all. But she promises herself - one glass of wine, then Clarke will have a break from her until they have to meet up for her family Christmas gathering tomorrow.

They’re out in public like a real couple. She can’t quite bring it to an ending just yet.

As they wait for their wine to arrive, they fall into their quiet silence. Despite her best judgement, Lexa allows herself to believe Clarke isn’t like this with everyone. The rational part of her brain is saying Clarke is a professional and can sense when words are needed, that she’s been doing this long enough to pick up on the slightest cue. The foolish, in love part is running wildly, waving its arms as it screams that she does it because she feels comfortable with Lexa.

Clarke traces odd patterns on her thigh, leaning in closer and keeping her eyes trained on her moving fingers as she enters Lexa’s personal space - for the first time in a decade, Lexa doesn’t have a problem with it. Instead, she revels on it, enjoying how the few inches separating them is enough for her to smell Clarke’s perfume.

Lexa barely notices the waiter coming with their wine, doesn’t bother to answer him when he asks if they need anything else -  _ no _ , all Lexa needs is to stay in this moment for her entire life. Up close like this, she can notice details she had completely missed. There’s a faint scar above Clarke’s collarbone, maybe a quarter of an inch long, that she might have kissed without noticing. She makes a mental note to ask about it later, letting a shiver run down her spine as Clarke’s fingers travel up higher on her thigh. Lexa sees the lightest of freckles peppering Clarke’s shoulder, the strap from her dress no more than a few shades lighter the pale skin, and she wonders if they’re a souvenir from a summer vacation, wonders if Clarke would prefer the beach or the meadow.

The column of Clarke’s neck is inviting and Lexa know very well how delightful it is to kiss the skin there, how the blonde’s breathing picks up when her lips touch her pulse point. She wants to kiss it, wants to feel how warm her skin is - Lexa’s skin is always slightly colder than hers - but Lexa leaves it for when they’re alone. For now, all she cares about is Clarke palming her thigh and drawing flowers on her knee with her left hand.

Her fingers itch to reach out and fix Clarke’s hair, tuck her blonde hair behind her ear again, let her fingers run through the golden locks, but it seems like it’d break the spell, shatter the moment. Instead, Lexa watches Clarke lips, full and oh so kissable - the bottom lip is in something akin to a pout, and it might be something Clarke does whenever she’s focused on something. Lexa finds herself wanting to know every little odd thing Clarke does that makes her  _ her _ . 

It’s not until she’s counting the tiny speckles of gold floating in the blue of her eyes that Lexa realizes she’s been caught staring.

“What are you thinking about?” Clarke nudges her nose against Lexa’s, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes attentive and glued to Lexa’s. Clarke’s gaze leaves Lexa weak in the knees and she can’t quite tell if that always happened or if it’s a recent development.

The words are spilling out of Lexa’s lips before she has time to think them through, “You.” She shrugs a bit, letting her shoulders sag as she finishes her thought, “How beautiful you are.”

Clarke’s fingers halt their movement and for a moment Lexa wonders if she was out of line. Her stomach coils in on itself before she notices Clarke’s cheeks turning a pinkish shade. Casting her eyes down, Clarke whispers a “ _ Lex _ ” in between a smile - that’s one of the little things Clarke does that makes her  _ her _ . The soft whisper, turning her name into poetry, when Lexa goes out of her hard shell and is actually nice, or say something she isn’t expecting.

Without taking her eyes out of Clarke’s, Lexa caves in and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting her fingertips trace the edge of her jaw, the line of her neck, until they land on the slightest of scars Lexa had been admiring a minute ago.

But the moment, charged with an energy Lexa can’t quite name, is over too soon as Clarke smirks and gives Lexa a once over, “You don’t look so bad yourself. Damn, you can make a pantsuit look  _ sinful _ .” Lexa can feel her own cheeks getting warmer, a wave of heat crawling up her neck. She wonders if Clarke will ever stop having this effect on her - she hopes not. Lexa turns to her wine, taking a graceless gulp as she watches Clarke’s grin widen, “Tell me, what are our plans for the rest of the afternoon?”

As Clarke takes her hands away from her thigh and reaches for her wine, taking a dainty sip before setting it back on the table, Lexa can  _ think _ again. As much as she wants to spend more time with Clarke, Lexa realizes they’ve been spending  _ much _ more time together than they had first agreed upon - which she’s more than okay with, but it can’t be as enjoyable for Clarke. 

Lexa wets her lips before speaking, watching the dark liquid move as she twirls the glass to avoid looking at Clarke, “I need to get a few case files I’m representing here in January to get acquainted with them, so I should drop by the firm before heading home,” Lexa is still staring at her wine swishing from one side to another in her glass as she speaks, a heat she can’t quite explain creeping up her neck. She hasn’t taken those cases to be in the same city as Clarke - she  _ hadn’t _ . Lexa, as well as Anya and Gustus, had been representing a few clients in the new firm since it had been open, so the lawyers they hired knew their policy and how to deal with certain situations. This had nothing to do with Clarke. But Lexa can’t say she’d be opposed to exchanging phone numbers so they could meet up for coffee once whenever she was near - that’s what she’d been wanting to do from the first trip to New York, from her first case. “I can call a cab and get myself there. You should go home, feel free to do whatever you want, and we’ll meet tomorrow for my mom’s party.”

After getting it all out, Lexa takes a deep breath and gathers the courage to look up at Clarke - she knew she couldn’t be gazing into those warm blue eyes and not ask Clarke to stay. It comes as a surprise and it takes her aback slightly to see the disappointment in the blonde’s features. Clarke looks almost upset with the prospect of going home, her eyes downcast and her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip.

She does look upset. But Lexa knows better than to get her hopes up and takes another sip from her wine, settling into the idea of spreading her cases on the breakfast table near the ceiling-to-floor windows and pick the most interesting one to spend her night on along with maybe sushi and saké.

“I was actually- I mean, um,” Clarke chokes out a few odd words before stopping for a moment, making a face as if she’s trying to decide what how she should phrase whatever is all jumbled together in her mind. It’s awfully unlike Clarke to be anything less than sure in her words, so Lexa gives her the time she needs, “We’re meeting with your family tomorrow, we’ll probably tell everyone how we met. In details - aunts and moms always want details. So, I- I thought maybe, well, I thought maybe you’d like to see my gallery. I mean, you’d have a better picture of where we met and. Well, yeah.”

Lexa fights her smile - she really, truly does. But there’s something about watching Clarke, who’s always seems so very well put together, stumble over herself to get the words she wanted out that makes her more  _ real _ in Lexa’s eyes. More human. More attainable.

Thinking objectively, it  _ would _ help to see the gallery. They could tell the sappiest stories about what happened near what painting and leave her mom swooning. Once again, Clarke having the forethought to plan what lie they’d say takes Lexa by surprise. And if she’s being truthfully, she’d been wanting to see it - Lexa had even planned on driving by when she had the chance, even she didn’t go in. But it feel awfully personal. Two different worlds clashing, two worlds who were never meant to meet.

“Do you want me to go to your gallery?” Lexa rearranges Clarke’s messy words into a simple question, looking for any signs of hesitation in the blue eyes staring attentively at her. She finds none. “I’d love to. I really would. But I don’t want to impose. I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to-”

“I want you to see it,” Clarke interrupts before Lexa can get her point across and she does so in a soft voice that Lexa wouldn’t even have heard had she not been only a few inches away from the blonde. Clarke gnaws on her lip, pulling at it with her teeth and casting her gaze down. She lets out a shaky breath and then another one before speaking again. “Not many people in my life know about both sides of it. And I want  _ you _ to know it. I want you to know that I’m more than… Well.” Her words hang in the air for a moment, eyes cast down, teeth sharply tugging at her bottom lip, her shoulders sinking as if Clarke is trying to make herself physically smaller.

Lexa finds Clarke’s hands in fists on her lap and work one of them open, sliding her fingers in between hers, and reaches out with her free hand to cup Clarke’s cheek, leaning in close and tilting her face until their eyes meet - tears pool in Clarke’s eyes and Lexa can barely pretend the way the blue in them shine brighter doesn’t make the blonde look even prettier.

“ _ Clarke, _ ” her voice shakes as the word come out, sounding much more like a prayer than a name. Her thoughts drift back to the day before and the memories of all the awful words she told Clarke feel like a punch in the stomach. She’s the one who did this. “I- I know.” Lexa is the one who made Clarke feel small and worthless, the one who made her feel like she had something to prove. Whoever told her sex workers lose the ability to get offended was  _ obviously _ wrong. She pushes through the shame she feels, “I know you are  _ so much more _ than your job. Because this is what it is, a  _ job _ . You said it yourself, you’re simply providing a service.” Clarke casts her eyes down once again and a tear falls down her cheek when she blinks. Lexa catches it with her thumb, lightly stroking her cheek before speaking again. “I’m not only a lawyer and you’re not only an escort, we both have layers. You are your own person outside of work and I’d love to know that Clarke. I’d love to know all sides of you.”

Before she has time to overthink what she just said, Clarke is kissing her, warm lips melting together in need and craving. Her lips taste salty when Lexa moves her own lips against them - a second tear follows the first one’s path and meet their joined lips. Clarke works her free hand until it find its spot under her rib, pressing hard until Lexa can feel her heart beating against her palm.

Maybe Clarke is falling for her after all. It’s still a  _ maybe _ \- a delusional maybe, an impossible maybe - but it’s a maybe. Lexa is a good liar, she has to be able to create lies in the spot to save a client’s ass, and she can’t think of any other good reason as to why Clarke would have this strong of a reaction. She doesn’t mind that that’s the only reason she can think of. She’s more than okay with her being the reason.

They part soon enough, the both remembering they’re still at a very public place that has barely just gotten out of the lunch rush. Lexa leans back a little to look at Clarke - her eyes are ridiculously blue and she can tell there’s the shadow of a smile on her lips - and runs the pad of her thumb across the wet path the tear left.

Lexa leans in for a moment long kiss, and Clarke squeezes her hand once, unwilling to let her go just yet. “Do you want to go to the firm to get your case files?”

“No. I’m all yours.” The words are spilling out, filled with truth and warmth, before Lexa even registers them. The only thing she can focus on is how Clarke’s smile widens a little every time they kiss.

Lexa gets the bill as Clarke gathers her papers into a neat pile and it feels like a rehearsed move that they’ve been doing for years. It feels like they’ve been going to business lunches together for forever and they’ve went through the motions of tidying up after the clients leave so often they just know what to do without anyone saying anything. Lexa hides a smile as she sees her bag placed beside the files when she approaches the table, Clarke already holding her coat and motioning for her to slip into it. It’s an awkward move, but it works well enough and Clarke insists on carrying the files to the car. Lexa jokes about what a gentlewoman Clarke is, which earns her an eyeroll and a kiss on the cheek. They link hands on their way to the car - it sees to be the only way they walk now - and Clarke starts the drive back to Brooklyn.

The entirety of the forty minute drive to her gallery feels familiar in a way it shouldn’t be. It feels domestic, as if they do this commute all the time. Lexa is left in charge of the radio, trying to find something they both enjoy - she grumpily ends up at a pop station after Clarke made fun of her for wanting to listen to a classical station. The “ _ of course you’d like classical shit, it’s so you _ ” Clarke says in a dramatic voice that has Lexa rolling her eyes, falling in love a little bit more, and she fiercely pretends she doesn’t grin like a schoolgirl when Clarke tells her she has a beautiful voice. In turn, Lexa listens attentively as Clarke tells her about the city she’s only seen through office and hotel windows and she falls in love with it while falling deeper in love with Clarke.

By the time Clarke parks, Lexa has learned a whole new side of New York that only someone who’s lived there their entire life could tell her. And she finds herself wishing she could take Clarke to eat Korean barbecue at that place she loves and waste their night away taking pictures in front of their favorite graffiti. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but she’s getting used to that.

It feels strange to be standing in front of Clarke’s gallery as the blonde fumbles with the keys to unlock the deadbolt above the doorknob. It feels a lot like Lexa is intruding, entering a space that she isn’t meant to be in, bothering the balance of their relationship. But Clarke smiles at her and reaches out to take her hand, pulling her inside with a grin. 

Lexa can’t help but smile back as the warmth of the gallery envelops her, shedding her coat and looking around. She takes a few steps as Clarke hangs their coats - the place is nice. It’s small and a bit cramped, but it’s obvious Clarke takes great pride in it. Lexa clasps her hands behind her back and takes in the sculptures and numerous paintings adorning the walls, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she rakes her brain for something to say.

Lexa can appreciate art. She knows when a piece is meant to shock or soothe, how the brush strokes can be more telling than the figure they form, what a sharper edge on a sculpture can mean. She’s not completely dull when it comes to art, but still she finds herself eagerly trying to remember what she learned about art in high school so that she can say something smart. She finds herself trying to impress Clarke and she’s beyond finding that weird.

The paintings on the wall she chooses to look at first are striking - about half a dozen small paintings of nothing really, in strong colors and vibrant tones, but the more she looks at them, the more they remind her of landscapes. She’s completely immersed in the paintings, something about them capturing her in a way she barely realizes Clarke has come to stand beside her.

“Your gallery has a beautiful collection, Clarke.” She says simply, because it’s true, and turns to look at Clarke, who’s looking at the paintings that had Lexa so mesmerized. The blonde has a jovial air to her, as if being among art takes all the weight out of her shoulders, brings her back to happier, lighter times. Lexa can almost,  _ almost _ , swear she glows.

“I work with some really talented artists, they take all the credit,” Clarke smiles at Lexa and turns back to the paintings in front of her. Following her gaze, Lexa finds purposeful strokes of red and blue, being kept from meeting by a thin orange line that explodes into a wider circle - it looks like sunset at sea. Clarke brushes the back of her hand against Lexa’s and the lawyer intertwines their fingers in a loose linking of their hands. It’s enough for the both of them. “Come, I wanna show you something.”

They walk among sculptures that look almost precariously placed, dodge a few paintings hanging from the ceiling and find themselves standing in front of a single easel in the middle of larger empty space. On the easel, there’s a painting of a woman - it’s clearly a portrait, but the more Lexa focuses on the lines, she less sense it makes. The colors are bold, as are the strokes, and it looks like it’s almost an accident that the painting looks like a woman at all. 

“It’s beautiful,” Lexa squints and leans in closer for a moment, the sharp edges of the woman’s eyeliner that drop and becomes a hair strand giving her pause as she tries to understand it, “It’s odd, but beautiful.”

Clarke tugs at her hand, intertwining their fingers more tightly as she calls her attention, “The artist is  _ incredible _ . I’m starting exposing his work for two weeks in January, only his works, before he becomes a permanent artist here.” Lexa has barely a half idea how the art business actually work, but she knows the tone Clarke has - she’s proud that she managed to snatch that artist before anyone else. “This is the painting I told you about. When we were deciding where we had met.”

Lexa’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline - she remembers being touched by Clarke thinking of her when she received a new piece, she could never imagine  _ this _ would be the painting. “Would it be okay if I got it? For my office, like you wanted me to.”  _ Wanted  _ is the wrong word, Clarke only mentioned it, said it’d look nice. But neither say anything about it.

“I’ll make the arrangements with the artist.” Lexa tugs at Clarke’s hand to urge her to follow her as she gives the painting one last longing look before moving to see another piece, walking away without a word, “Is it for your firm here?”

Lexa find herself looking at Clarke, a smile firmly placed in her lips. “Actually, I want it for my office in Vancouver.” Clarke stops for a mere second before following Lexa to a panel that takes up almost an entire wall, picturing the ocean sideways - the far left side has the sunshine hitting the water and the far right side is dark with the lack of light. Lexa wants it in her home, if she’s being completely honest. She wants to hang that painting somewhere she can see everyday, she wants a piece of Clarke with her at all times, “Tell me about this one. What’s the artist like?”

That is all the incentive Clarke needs to launch into a mostly one sided conversation about all the techniques the artist used and the symbolism behind this and that detail. As they move across the gallery, Clarke talks more and more fervently about brush strokes and color theory, gesticulating wildly to explain how the idea came to be, what everything means, how it all can be interpreted. 

Clarke pauses her lecture about how colorblocking and expressive brush strokes can make our brain come up with figures that aren’t  _ really _ there to turn to Lexa, “What is it? You haven’t even glanced at the last three paintings.” Clarke has a wicked smile in her lips, one arched brow and a light coming from within her that is doing nothing to calm Lexa’s lovesick grin.

Lexa bites her lip in a less than subtle attempt to pretend she hasn’t been gazing at Clarke for the best part of the last fifteen minutes. “You’re just so passionate about it,” Lexa keeps her eyes locked on Clarke’s, reaching for her hand with both of hers - watching Clarke babble excitedly about art made Lexa’s heart all warm, but she missed touching the blonde for the last hour. Their fingers intertwine in their own accord and Lexa takes a step forward, putting herself closer to Clarke, “It looks good on you.”

The blush creeping up Clarke’s neck is obvious and Lexa tilts her head as if to admire this rare moment better. Clarke smile turns from a grin to a sheepishly tender beam and she dips her head, averting her gaze, “Art is… art is everything to me. I love making art, talking about it, learning new things, finding artists to admire. I-” Clarke frowns for a moment before meeting Lexa’s eyes once more, nodding slightly before she says, pensive, “I want to work with art, and only art, one day. I want to have my own exhibit, I want to teach art, to make someone else love it as much as I do.” Squeezing Lexa’s hand a little tighter, Clarke looks back at the paintings on the wall, tightening her jaw as she skims them again, “People in my job we… grow used to a certain lifestyle. It’s easy money, wanting it or not. And it’s hard to, well,  _ downgrade _ .”

The answer Lexa got for her unasked question leaves her speechless for a moment - a single moment when a thousand thoughts rush through her mind. She shoves all of them away. There will be a time to think things over, when she’s alone, centered and without Clarke pouring her heart out, “That’s understandable. Perhaps one day you’ll find a way to have everything.” She decides to drop the subject for now and tugs at Clarke’s hand, reaching to swipe away a rogue strand of hair, “Is there any of your pieces in here?”

Falling back to her graceful self, Clarke looks at Lexa from under her eyelashes, “No, I haven’t had a chance to, you know, launch myself into the art world yet.” Lexa sees Clarke’s throat bobbing up and down as she swallow, tilting her head up slightly to look at her more directly. Licking her lips, Clarke continues, her voice lower than before, “I do have some paintings in my studio slash apartment. Upstairs.” Lexa can’t help the way her heart leaps from her chest at the mention of her apartment being upstairs. It seems nothing short of functional, but she still feels like a kid who finds themselves in their girlfriend’s home while her mom is away. Clarke takes a moment to consider her next words, frowning before she says in barely a whisper, “Do you want to see them? I- I’d like for you to see them.”

Lexa can’t do much more than nod. Clarke’s smile widens at her answer and Lexa lets herself being pulled towards a partially hidden staircase that leads to Clark’s apartment. As they take the steps, fingers firmly intertwined, Lexa feels her stomach looping and turning, threatening to spill all its contents - but it’s a good feeling, one she hasn’t felt in so long she almost forgot she is still capable of it. She watches Clarke’s body swaying in front of her, taking the steps with less ease than she herself - Lexa makes a note that Clarke can’t handle stairs, if only to tease her about it later. But their fingers remain tightly linked, almost as if Clarke is scared Lexa will give up on her and run to the door.

The thought almost makes Lexa laugh - she can dream.

When they get to the door, Clarke untangle their hands to unlock the door and Lexa pauses at the sight. Clarke has a wreath on her door. An honest to God green wreath adorned with eucalyptus branches and a bunch of frosted pinecones, a red satin ribbon giving it some color. 

“I didn’t take you for the holiday spirit kind of person,” Lexa smirks slightly, one corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilts her head towards the door. It’s amusing, really, to see a wreath where no one can see unless they come to visit, to know Clarke put it up for herself more than anything.

It takes her a moment to realize what Lexa means, and she looks at the wreath, something akin to embarrassment coloring her features as she opens the door, “Oh, yeah. This is the only decoration I put up every year.” Clarke steps inside and tosses her keys into a ceramic bowl on a narrow entryway table, leaving the door behind for Lexa to follow. “I don’t have patience for decorating a tree but I had really happy Christmases when I was a kid, I can’t  _ not _ put something up.”

Lexa means to say something about Clarke’s decoration, maybe tell her how her apartment back in Vancouver had never seen anything related to Christmas, maybe ask Clarke to tell her about how they celebrated it in her childhood. She means to say  _ something _ , but the sight that greets her leaves her speechless.

The short hallway, with two doors that she assumes open to the bathroom and closet, is filled with beautiful artwork. Lexa can tell Clarke has paintings from a few different artists, the bunch of them filling the both walls. The hallway opens to the kitchen and the living area, an unmade bed resting against the far wall, the afternoon sun filtering through the wide windows behind it. 

Lexa slowly takes in the living area, details overflowing her senses. Six or seven mini cactuses in hand painted pots sit beside a TV set, propped up against the wall that faces the kitchen. The sink and stove are void of any adornment, but the marble countertop counts with its own little infinity of objects - a cereal bowl left unwashed, a stack of take-out flyers used as base for a dying plant, a book being held open by another one, a mug with lipstick mark.

It looks like this apartment could belong to a college kid trying to make it on their own. Nothing, absolutely  _ nothing _ , gives away that Clarke is an escort. But everything that lies in the center of the living area screams that this is an artist’s home. 

An easel sits in the middle of the room, a palette filled with smudges of paint precariously resting on top of a small stool. There are rows of canvases of all sizes neatly set against the wall under the TV set, some lying against the foot of the bed, one lying on top of the paint stained couch. The floor is covered in paint and paint tubes the coffee table couldn’t hold with brushes, cleaning cloth and a handful of mugs fighting for space.

Everything is paint stained and everything is beautiful.

“What is it? Not what you expected?” Clarke asks in a soft voice that still manages to sound too loud for the eye opening experience Lexa goes through in the span of ten seconds. Suddenly, she sees Clarke in a new light. Suddenly, she falls even deeper in love..

Lexa smiles and shakes her head, “Definitely not what I expected.” Lexa takes a few steps further into the single room and looks up the walls - Clarke had painted a landscape in the wall across from the one hosting all her plants. “But I can’t see this place belonging to anyone but you.”

When she turns her head to look at Clarke, Lexa can see the blonde smiling - the kind of smile you can’t fight, even if you try to keep it hidden, it just illuminates your entire face. Shaking her head, Clarke walks closer to Lexa, until they’re both staring at the painted wall, “I, well, this is my safe haven, you know? It’s where I come to be myself.” Clarke keeps her look trained to the wall when Lexa turns her entire body to listen to Clarke, like she’s the sun and Lexa is merely orbiting it, trying to gain a better insight of what causes her to shine, “Yes, I have some work things here, but mostly I come here to paint, to watch reality TV shows while I cook dinner. I-” Clarke’s voice is a whisper, and Lexa is close enough to hear her breathing. She wants to lean in and kiss Clarke, want to put the TV on and watch Clarke cook, want to cuddle in the paint stained sofa and wake up to the sun filling the loft. This is the place she wants to come home to. It’s a long moment before Clarke finishes her thought, “I never brought anyone here before.”

Lexa can almost hear her dreams shattering, like she’s a cartoon and the sound effects are just a bit too dramatic. It’s obvious this isn’t a place to meet clients and once again, Lexa feels like she’s pushing her limits, “I can go if-”

“No.” Clarke’s voice is certain and firm, and Lexa lets her shoulders drop as the blonde says again, “No, I want you to be here.” Clarke places a hand on her forearm and squeezes softly, before walking towards the rows of paintings sitting under the TV, “Come on, let me find something good to show you.”

“You’re talented, Clarke.” Lexa clasps her hands behind her back once more and follows Clarke, keeping her distance as she takes in the few canvases in display, “I’m sure any painting of yours will be incredible.”

Clarke scoffs and it turns into a laughter before Lexa can protest. She finds a canvas she likes and sets it aside, the painted side lying face down so Lexa can’t quite peek at it yet. “You literally cannot know that.”

The words are out of her mouth before Lexa can bite her tongue, “It’s you. How could you  _ not  _ be amazing in everything you do.”

They both freeze. Clarke stops mid action so a small canvas hangs in the air. Lexa bites down on her cheek, hard enough for her to taste the ghost of the copper stench of blood, her insides swishing around. She stays put, frozen in an infinite second, as Clarke recover and sets the next canvas down, looking at her through thick eyelashes and a playful gaze.

“You sure know how to woo a woman, I’ll give you that,” Clarke laughs and kneels to search through another row of canvases, “You’re lucky I like my women corny,” Clarke winks at Lexa before turning back to her paintings and Lexa can feel warmth rising on her neck. Her hands remain firmly clasped behind her, her eyes traveling down each canvas on display to keep herself from staring at Clarke and the way her brow furrowed each time she considered a canvas to be good enough or not. For someone who’s trying to keep her feelings under the surface, her adoration declarations happen way too often. “Okay, here. These are my favorites.”

Glad for the distraction, Lexa watches as Clarke arranges them on the floor, leaning against the other canvas so they’re clear to view, and she kneels beside the blonde, keeping her palms on her thighs. She looks at Clarke and barely keeps her smile under control when the blonde bites the tip of her tongue, adjusting one frame and another, before leaning back and letting Lexa judge them.

She’s hardly an expert, but if art is meant to make you feel something,  _ this is art _ . Each canvas portrays something different, something unique. Clarke seems to be a fan of the sea, three of the five paintings have seaside related pictures. 

The one closest to Lexa is the painting of a ship at sunset, the water glimmering in gold and copper tones. Another portrayed a woman underwater, her white hair flowing in the water as the darkness threatened to engulf her - the crown made out of pearls and shells gave Lexa the idea she might be a sea queen, if not a mermaid. The third sea related painting is a more abstract idea, a woman drawn in hard strokes, blue in the shadows, pink in the light, the top of her face becoming one with the sea. The picture in the middle is the most serene, with no doubt - the profile of a darker skinned woman, pale cream flowers playing the part of her hair and dress. 

The fifth one, the one Clarke was kneeling in front of and almost hiding it with her torso, seems to be a self portrait - the woman in the picture is paler than Clarke’s, her hair whiter, and her eyes in a lighter blue, almost icy, but it was still Clarke’s features. It seemed like something taken out of a fantasy novel. The fur in her coat was thick, a clear sign  _ that  _ Clarke would live somewhere covered in snow year round. The background had mountains and wildlife that reminds Lexa of creatures that never existed, and then her face - the left side of her face is adorned by a silver tattoo, an intricate design that went from her forehead to just under the cheekbone. 

Lexa decides this is her favorite.

She traces the golden water the picture beside her and turns to Clarke, “They’re stunning, Clarke.” her voice is soft and her eyes reflect the grateful smile the blonde wears, “Tell me about them.”

And so Clarke does.

Lexa mostly watches her talking about what techniques she used and what each detail mean, looking at the paintings whenever Clarke points at them. The way Clarke speaks of her paintings, like it’s something sentient and alive, is what makes Lexa’s heart beat wildly. She can’t help but remember how Costia used to go on and on and  _ on _ about her favorite authors, and how at some point Lexa wouldn’t even listen to the words anymore, just pay attention to the cadence of her voice and passion in her tone. 

Clarke has entire stories to tell about her work. And she tells Lexa about the grandiosity of the sea queen, suspended between light and dark, becoming the serene calm before the wild storm. She talks about how vibrant blues mingle with purples, and what the white in her hair means, what her  delicate features represent. Clarke tells the tale of a woman she met in a business trip to Taiwan - neither comment on the  _ business _ of the trip - and how everything the woman did was so effortlessly beautiful it felt like she was watching someone play with flowers. The woman posed for her and it was one of the paintings she redid the most often. 

When Clarke recites a poem from memory to show where her idea to paint the ship on sunset, Lexa can swear she’ll cry and scare the blonde. She’s never felt this strongly about a poem.

It takes her a good ten minutes to realize it’s not the poem at all.

They’re in silence for a little while after Clarke finishes talking about her art. Clarke seems weightless, the ghost of a smile illuminating her features, and Lexa knows she has a matching one.

Lexa tilts her head to look at Clarke more fully, her smile growing warmer, “I was right, you  _ are _ incredibly talented,” her words come out in barely a whisper, and she leans in, capturing Clarke’s lips in a tender kiss. Lexa feels the blonde sucking on her bottom lip, their foreheads touching as their kiss progresses. Before they have the chance to deepen it, Lexa breaks apart, “Have you pitched it to an art dealer yet? You have a solid collection, Clarke, your exposition would be breathtaking.”

Clarke leans back a little, her eyes staring at Lexa’s hands, still placed in her thighs, “I’m working on it. Slowly.” Lexa suspects it’s a lie, but keeps her mouth shut and waits for Clarke to continue. “Sometimes I think I’m- I get this thought, ‘what if it doesn’t work out? What if I suck at art and being an escort is all I’m meant to be?’”

Scooting closer and taking Clarke’s hands in between hers, Lexa says in a firm voice. “I’ve been in enough art expositions to know you’re a far cry from sucking.” It isn’t a lie. She may not go to art expositions at all anymore, but she knows what bad artist looks like. Everything she’s seen from Clarke’s work is amazing, “All you need is to have a little faith in yourself.” She pauses, considers if she should finish her original thought or not - then Lexa holds Clarke’s chin, tipping it up until their eyes meet, “Like I do.

“At least someone does.” Clarke chuckles in a humorless laugh, and carries on before Lexa has the chance to say anything “I have other things to show you, from the canvases in the bedroom,” Clarke gets up in one smooth motion, leaving Lexa on the floor to realize one of her feet had gone numb and a thousand needles are beginning to prickle it back to life. Clarke laughs once more, but it sounds real this time, and reaches out to help Lexa get up. “Come on, grandma.”

Frowning at the nickname and the fact that she does indeed need her help, Lexa replies, grumpily, “Says the girl who’s breathless after one flight of stairs.”

Clarke feigns offense, jaw wide open, before dropping the act and knocking her hip against Lexa, “You’re so annoying.” She tugs at Lexa to follow her to the area surrounding her bed, turning around to kiss her cheek - a sloppy kiss at that, from how wide Clarke is smiling, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Lexa raises her eyebrow, her own smile blossoming in her face as she circles the bed. Clarke kneels in front of the small bunch of canvases that seem to be works she does for herself, something she does without worrying much, “There’s one painting I need to show you. You’re so gonna laugh, it’s a squid wearing sunglasses.”

Clarke keeps talking about how she may or may not have been drunk off her ass when she painted that, but it was three in the morning and she couldn’t just wait until the morning to try out the new paints that had arrived.

Clarke keeps talking, but Lexa isn’t listening.

Something else has her attention now.

The soft beige from the piece of paper contrasts with the deep grey blue from Clarke’s bedding and Lexa reaches for it. Clarke is still looking for her squid painting and gives little notice as Lexa holds the sheet of paper in front of her with both hands - it takes an eternity for Lexa to notice the logo from her hotel in the sheet of paper, and even longer for her to make sense of the blue ink of a faulty pen. It feels like the world has stopped and her mind has slowed down, but then she finally,  _ finally _ gets it.

Clarke has drawn her.

Even in one shade of blue, it’s clear that the woman in the sketch is Lexa. She’s sleeping, one arm under her pillow, the other falling on her waist, the bedsheet hinting at her features underneath it. It’s  _ breathtaking _ and completely surreal to find herself like this, immortalized by someone else.

Her jaw is slightly slacked as she turns, only to find Clarke standing a feet away from her. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” Clarke takes the piece of paper from her fingers and rushes to put it away, stuttering with her excuse. “It’s not- it’s not ready yet.”

“When did you do this?” Lexa is half aware her voice sounds accusatory and almost rude, but she needs to know. She needs to know why Clarke drew her before the raging monster in her chest swallow her whole - finding this damn drawing isn’t helping her to convince herself her feelings are one sided. Her jaw is clenched and she’s barely holding back tears. She can’t get all teary only because she girl she likes drew her, she’s not a schoolgirl. Through gritted teeth, she finishes her thought, “And _ why _ ?”

“This morning.” Clarke can’t quite meet Lexa’s stare as she walks back towards her, and Lexa isn’t sure she’d be able to hold it without spilling the tears. “I woke up earlier and you were  _ so beautiful _ in your sleep, I couldn’t-” Lexa takes in a shaky breath, her entire soul collapsing at hearing Clarke’s voice, so small saying such  _ big _ things, “I was gonna finish it and give it to you, but if you don’t want me to, I can just throw it awa-”

Letting go of any idea of control she was still holding on to, Lexa kisses Clarke. Their lips melt together as Lexa’s hands find blonde locks to tangle in, their bodies gravitating towards one another until they’re touching everywhere. “I love it,” Lexa says in between kisses, “I  _ love _ it.”

Clarke holds Lexa’s waist tight against her, adjusting their positions so they can stay upright and not toggle to the floor with how pressed together they are. Running her tongue against Clarke’s bottom lip and deepening the kiss, Lexa brushes her blonde hair away and searches for the zipper of Clarke’s dress, tugging at it slightly. Lexa changes the angle of the kiss, starting to unzip Clarke’s dress, but the blonde breaks the kiss and steps back.

Through heavy lidded eyes, Lexa sees the hesitation in Clarke’s face and for long a moment she just looks at her, doing her best to ignore the fist squeezing her heart at the sight of Clarke backing away from her.

“I have never brought anyone here.” Clarke’s voice is soft, if a little shaky, and Lexa can see her throat bobbing up and down when she swallows hard, “Ever.” 

Lexa nods, clenching her jaw tight to keep her the tears prickling behind her eyes from spilling out, and she takes a step back, Clarke’s words sinking into her like sharp knives cutting through soft flesh. Of course Clarke never brought a client here. This is her house, her  _ home _ . Lexa is overstepping the limits they both thought were clearly drown.

“Of course, I understand.” Lexa can’t help it when her voice comes out much more professional than it was a moment ago. Shame turns in her stomach, and she can’t look at Clarke, instead inspecting one of the painting Clarke left on the floor, facing up, “You wouldn’t bring a client to your home.

“No, I mean I’ve never brought  _ anyone _ here,” Clarke says in a small voice, but Lexa doesn’t dare looking up. They’ve both been caught up in this lie, more than they should have been, that much is clear - and that’s the  _ only _ reason Lexa is in this room to begin with, because Clarke let herself go a little too much. Lexa reasons with herself, but it gets her nowhere. “I moved in here two years ago, I haven’t tried to have a relationship since before that.” Lexa looks up at that, just in time to see Clarke giving her a small smile, as if she’s longing for something long lost, “So this, having sex in here, it’s… special.”

The words cut through Lexa, but she forces a smile back, “I  _ understand _ , Clarke. I should go.”

Lexa nods a goodbye and takes two steps towards the door before Clarke grips her wrist, pulling her closer until they’re facing each other, “I don’t think you understand me at all. I mean that  _ this _ ,” Clarke gestures in between then, her knuckles lightly brushing against Lexa’s shirt - only then she realizes how close they are, “is special. That  _ you’re  _ special. 

WIth deliberate motions, Clarke grabs Lexa’s hands and sets one on her waist, until she’s embracing her, and the other on her cheek, leaning into the touch. Lexa can’t help pulling Clarke closer, her fingers splayed on the small of her back as her other thumb brush the skin underneath Clarke’s eyes.

Still, she forces herself to say, in something akin to sure tone, “We don’t have to do this, I don’t have any right to ask you to do this.”

Clarke finds her favorite spot against Lexa’s ribs, the thin fabric allowing her to trace the barely there bumps of each bone, and she lowers her head, squeezing out a whisper, “I want to have sex with my girlfriend, in my bed. In my messy apartment, with all my art surrounding us.” Their eyes meet once more, and Clarke is so close Lexa can see the want in her eyes, “Is that so wrong?”

Lexa lets out a breath, shivering as she blinks away the tears that have started to gather once more. Her voice matches Clarke’s and she feels vulnerable, but for the first time in years, that doesn’t quite scare her, “You made it sound so real.”

Clarke leans in, their lips almost touching but not yet, and Lexa lets her eyes drop to her lips. Lexa can feel her heart hammering against her rib cage and she’s pretty sure Clarke feels it too, might even be able to see it if she looks at her chest. Clarke’s voice is a small nothing when she answers, “If you want it and I want it, what makes it anything less than real?”

Caving in, Lexa takes Clarke’s bottom lip in between hers. Clarke kisses her back slowly, lazily dragging her tongue across Lexa’s top lip and eliciting a gasp from her - Lexa feels this kiss  _ everywhere _ , from her lips to her chest, to her ribcage, to the tip of her toes.

Much too soon, Clarke breaks the kiss and steps back. Lexa looks at her with heavy hooded eyes, her fuzzy brain taking a while to understand the movement, but completely forgetting what it might mean. Before Lexa has time to overthink this and consider it a rejection, Clarke reaches out to her back, tugging at the zipper until it gives. She slowly slides it down her back, opening her dress without ever taking her eyes off Lexa.

The dress pools at her feet and she steps off her heels, letting herself in full display for Lexa to admire. And that’s what she does. Her eyes roam shamelessly across smooth skin, clad only in white lace - as much as dark colors against her fair skin makes Lexa’s knees go weak, white underwear suits Clarke beautifully. Lexa notices little things she wouldn’t have even been able to realize a few nights ago - her foot lying sideways instead of fully planted on the floor, the slight trembling of her hands beside her, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip. Clarke is nervous.

Their eyes meet once more, and Lea sees fire in the pools of Clarke’s eyes, and something else hidden beneath it. Clarke closes the distance between them, reaching up to touch Lexa’s cheek and letting the pads of her fingers drag down her torso until she can untuck her blouse, her intentions clear.

Lexa puts her hands on top of hers, leaning in closer until her lips are almost touching Clarke’s cheek. “Are you sure?”

The blonde chuckles slightly, pressing on until she’s got Lexa’s blouse halfway up her belly. “Yes, I’m sure.” Clarke says in a voice that washes away every bit of doubt Lexa might have and she obediently raises her arm, helping Clarke as she undresses her. The blouse falls on top of a painting Clarke left lying on the floor and she traces the newly exposed skin, palming Lexa’s chest as her other hand find her rib, lifting one eyebrow as she says in a teasing voice,  “Your heart is beating so fast. Is it all because of my  _ hot bod _ ?”

The teasing in her voice is clear, and Lexa knows she could easily get away with it by saying something along the lines of ‘that and the thing you do with your fingers’, but she realizes that, if there’s a chance Clarke might feel the same she does, Lexa has got to put herself out there.

Tucking a blonde strand of hair behind her ear, Lexa smiles softly, letting her fingertips trace the sharp edge of her jaw, the smooth skin of her long neck, tracing it back up to run her thumb across her bottom lip. When she speaks, after a long moment merely admiring Clarke’s beauty, the deep care in her voice is overwhelming, “It’s much more than that, Clarke.”

Lexa watches Clarke’s semblant change, from sexy teasing to something much softer, a breath coming out of her lips in the shape of her name. “ _ Lex _ ,” Clarke tilts her head slightly to the side, her eyes holding Lexa’s gaze for a moment before she gets on her tiptoes to kiss Lexa, their lips moving against each other in something that is much more than mere muscle memory, much more than a mere kiss between an escort and her client.

Taking Clarke’s face in between her palms, letting one fall further into her hair as the other cups her jaw, Lexa savors each sigh that leaves the blonde’s lips, each innocent dragging of lips against soft lips. The kiss deepens and Lexa lets Clarke take charge of the rhythm as their tongues meet in deep, languid moves that raise goosebumps all over Lexa’s body. 

Lexa can’t do much but take everything Clarke gives her.

Clarke traces the length of her torso, a light touch that has Lexa sighing into her mouth and tightening her grip on her hair, until her hands find the waist of her pants. Clarke makes quick work of it, unzipping her fly and pulling it down her hips before Lexa can even register what’s happening.

Breaking the kiss, their eyes meet as both of them try to keep their heavy breathing under control. Lexa lets her hands drag down the length of Clarke’s arms, meeting her hands at her waist and urging her back into a kiss. But Clarke smiles - not her usually devilish smile that makes Lexa shiver, but a tender smile that has an even worse effect - and drops down onto the bed, sitting on the very edge of it and pulling Lexa closer to her.

Lexa watches with her hands lying dumbly by her side as Clarke drags her pants down her legs, helping her step out of it and kick her shoes away as well. She’s about to kneel beside Clarke in bed and kiss her until neither of them remember their own names when Clarke holds her thighs and turns her around. Lexa obeys, of course she does, and stares at the empty wall on this side Clarke’s bed where she can almost make out a pencil outline of something she can’t quite figure out.

She is almost sure she can see a bridge leading to a lake when Clarke kisses the back of her thigh and Lexa’s mind goes blank. Clarke places another kiss on the swell of her back, right under the place where the waistband of her panties end, and Lexa shivers - not being able to see what Clarke is going to do next puts her on edge, her nerve endings more sensitive to the changes in the air.

Bracing herself for whatever comes next, Lexa closes her eyes and lets the sensations wash over her as Clarke kisses a wet path on her spine - she focuses on soft lips connecting to where her spine jolts out slightly, on how Clarke’s tongue traces the shapes of her tattoo, on hands slowly following along, kneading soft skin.

Clarke rises to her feet at the same time Lexa sags into her embrace, her knees weak with the attention. Her eyes remain dutifully closed as Clarke makes quick work of her bra, leaving Lexa to toss it to the floor as she swipes her dark curls all over one shoulder, planting a soft kiss on the newly exposed skin as her arms embrace Lexa’s waist.

Lexa lets her hands fall on top of Clarke’s arms, tilting her head to the side as the blonde kisses the long column of her neck until her mouth finds its home on the back of Lexa’s ear, “Do you want to know why I drew you?” Her voice is low and it rumbles within Lexa like a thunderstorm and she nods once, afraid that if she moves too much Clarke will suddenly disappear - instead, her hands grow bolder with her words. 

Clarke has one hand firmly wrapped around Lexa’s waist as the other travels up her stomach, just a light teasing touch, until she can cup a breast. “Because you’re beautiful when you’re asleep,” Clarke says as she nuzzles her nose further into Lexa’s skin, “And I don’t only mean this as a woman who’s super attracted to you, but as an artist.” Lexa feels a shiver run through her body when Clarke teases a nipple in between her thumb and index finger, intertwining her fingers with the ones Clarke has splayed against her stomach. 

“You’re this powerful business woman who owns the entire room when you walk into it, but you’re so soft and carefree when you’re asleep,” Clarke punctuates her words with kisses on the back of Lexa’s neck, taking her earlobe in between her teeth in a light teasing before letting go of it. Warmth pools in between Lexa’s legs and she knows she won’t last long when Clarke touches her - not in this position, not with Clarke saying all those things in a throaty voice that reminds her too much of a moan for her to not be affected by it. “You change so much when you’re not carrying the world on your shoulders,” Clarke drags her nails lightly against the paler skin of Lexa’s chest, moving to the neglected breast, giving it the same attention.

Lexa lets her head falls slight back, not quite leaning against Clarke’s shoulder, but exposing more skin for her to nibble on. Clarke gets the message fast enough, and latches onto the skin, swirling her tongue against Lexa’s pulse point. “It was breathtaking, to wake up and see you like that.” Lexa sighs, letting a raggedy breath come out, and urges Clarke’s hand that is still firm on her stomach to go lower. She feels Clarke smiling against her neck, letting her teeth drag against the sensitive skin until she whispers, hot and heavy, against the back of her ear, “You weren’t frowning or worrying. You were almost smiling, and I- I just had to capture that moment. I had to commit it all to memory.”

Moaning softly as Clarke’s fingers slide into her panties, Lexa turns her head and searches for the blonde’s lips until they’re kissing. It’s an odd angle, and Lexa wants to turn fully to Clarke and take her to bed and  _ touch her _ \- not touching Clarke while her fingers are teasing her makes it all almost unbearable - but Clarke presses herself closer to Lexa, maintaining their position. Clarke slides her fingers across Lexa’s wet slit before burying her digits within her warmth and Lexa can hardly care that she’s dripping wet already.

Their lips part harshly as Lexa bends forward, the direct contact to her clit overwhelming her senses, but Clarke settles again on her neck, holding her up as she keeps explaining why she had to draw Lexa, “The way your bottom lip jolts out a bit further, how long your fingers are and how intricate they look when you’re grasping at the sheets.” Wrapping both her hands around Clarke’s wrists to keep herself upright as the blonde draws tight circles on her, Lexa has to focus to make sense of Clarke’s words. “Your hair spilling against your pillow, your legs bent in an angle that was honestly so inviting. I had to sketch it, to make sure that moment wasn’t lost in time.”

Her breath is coming out in hard puffs and her legs are barely more than wet noodles when Clarke enters her, making her bite her lip to keep her moaning inside before remembering Clarke likes to hear her. She lets her jaw loosen, soft sounds building up as Clarke pumps her fingers in and out of her in a practiced pace. 

“I want to paint you, because you belong to art galleries, Lexa.” Clarke voice against her neck is strained and hoarse, her breath hitting her ear in almost a matching rhythm as her fingers curls within her, and Lexa moans, shifting her hips to match Clarke’s thrusting, “I want to draw how you look in the sunrise, or late at night after you spent the entire day being a hotshot lawyer, tired eyes and all. I want to immortalize the way your face contorts when you come.” Lexa sinks her fingers into Clarke’s skin as the blonde deliberately slows her movements, grinding on the palm of her hand, “When you come  _ for me _ .” That last bit sets Lexa off and she lets her orgasm wash over her as she bends forwards, being held up by nothing more than Clarke’s strong arms. She rides it out until her breathing slow enough for her to hear Clarke laughing against her ear, whispering “Yes, that face,” before peppering kisses all over her neck.

Once her legs are steady enough to hold herself up, Lexa turns, kissing Clarke long and slowly, pouring everything into her. Clarke slides her hands up her back and Lexa cradles the blonde’s face in between her palms, holding her still as she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth before deepening the kiss. 

If anyone told her she had a praise kink, she’d tell them they were wholesomely mistaken - but hearing Clarke saying she belongs to art galleries had stirred something within her that she couldn’t quite name.

It takes her heart a while to calm down, and Lexa can’t even tell for sure it was because of how hard her orgasm had washed over her, or if she should blame Clarke for that.

Slowly, with hands trembling almost imperceptibly, Lexa lets her hands fall to Clarke’s chest, following the edges of her bra until she finds the hooks - it takes her longer than it should, considering she wears them everyday - tossing it to the floor after struggling with the standard hooking system on the back. 

Clarke laughs against her lips, breaking the kiss, and leans back slightly to look at the annoyed look on her face. Lexa rolls her eyes playfully, whispering a “ _ shut up _ ” as she backs Clarke up against the bed until she falls seated. Lexa reaches down to seal their lips together in a soft kiss before she falls to her knees in between Clarke’s legs, watching as she amused look leaves the blonde’s face, being quickly replaced by an aroused one. 

Lexa kisses Clarke again, tongue slowly tracing her lips before deepening the kiss and dragging her hands up her thighs until swift fingers hook around the waistband of her panties. Clarke wraps an arm around her shoulder, supporting half her weight in them as she lifts her hips so Lexa can drag the offending piece down her thighs. Lexa lets go of Clarke’s lips with a loud sound and leans back to slide her panties off and toss it somewhere as Clarke leans back on her elbows, her eyes glued on Lexa - who has her gaze fixated on the apex of the blonde’s thighs.

Licking her lips as she spread Clarke’s legs further apart, Lexa kisses the inside of her knee, swirling her tongue against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh as she makes her way up. Clarke is  _ wet _ , Lexa can tell that without a shadow of a doubt - she can  _ see _ it, can  _ smell _ Clarke’s arousal, can’t wait to  _ taste _ it. She takes her time getting to where she wants, nibbling Clarke’s skin and soothing it with her tongue, doing it over and over again as she gets higher until the blonde is shifting under her touch.

Swallowing hard at the sight - Clarke is spread wide open in front of her, her sex inches away from her, and when Lexa looks up, she can see how heavy her breath has become -, Lexa edges closer until she can drag her tongue against Clarke’s slit. The reaction she gets is  _ breathtaking _ . Clarke’s hips leave the bed and thrust closer to her mouth, her thighs tighten slightly against her ears and a hand reaches blindly towards her, her loud gasp filling the room.

Lexa smiles against her wetness and tries again, dragging her tongue slowly and applying pressure to a different area - which earns her a kick in the ribs. She reaches over Clarke’s legs and pulls on her thighs until they’re resting on her shoulders. It’s a new angle, and Clarke’s back leave the mattress when Lexa licks her in her earnest and closes her lips around her clit, a cry coming from the back of her throat alerting Lexa.

“Is it too much?” Lexa asks softly, peppering kisses around the sensitive flesh. One hand comes to rest on top of Clarke’s belly, that is heaving with each breath, and the other lies on her thigh. Lexa worries she’s doing something wrong - she never heard Clarke cry out like that before, and she doesn’t have much to compare that sound with - but Clarke is quick to dismiss it.

“No, no, it’s- just-” Clarke mumbles through heavy breaths and licks her lips before throwing her hand on top of Lexa’s, intertwining their fingers, “Keep going.”

Tightening her fingers around Clarke’s, Lexa is more than happy to oblige. Her lips slowly return to her clit, swirling her tongue around it a few times before rounding her lips around it and sucking on it. She alternates sucking a vacuum around it with gentler swipes of her tongue, adding a scrape of teeth every now and then. It could be overwhelming, and Lexa pays attention to every reaction Clarke gives her to know when she should slow down - and Clarke is  _ so _ reactive Lexa wonders if she could really come from hearing the sounds.

Somewhere between a string of “ _ fuck, fuck, fuck, oh god, fuck _ ” and her hand reaching down to pull at Lexa’s hair, Clarke comes. And she does it  _ beautifully _ \- screaming Lexa’s name.

Lexa rides it out with her, keeping her mouth in place as Clarke’s wetness coat her chin. When Clarke lets go of her hair and falls back in bed, a laugh bubbling in her throat, Lexa places a gentle kiss on her inner thigh and turns her hand that is still laced with Clarke’s. She does so until their palms are facing each other and their fingers can wrap around their hands more comfortably, her thumb reaching out to stroke the back of her hand.

It’s a blissful moment where they’re nothing more than two girls making love among art.

With one hand firmly tucked into Clarke’s, Lexa drags her other hand, that had been holding her thigh, down to her center. Placing kisses all over her inner thigh, Lexa slowly coats her fingers with Clarke’s wetness, sliding two digits inside. The remaining throbbing of Clarke’s first orgasm makes her muscles clench around her fingers slightly, and the blonde leans on one elbow, staring down at Lexa.

She can’t seem to be able to form words just yet, and Lexa feels incredibly proud with that knowledge. Lexa whispers a soft, “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” against Clarke’s thigh before drawing her fingers out only to slide them inside in a swift motion, curling them inside her. Clarke sighs and lets herself fall back against the mattress, tightening her grip around Lexa’s hand at the same time her inner muscles tighten around her fingers.

Her thrusting is slow and steady, building Clarke up without it being more than she could handle - with how responsive Clarke is, it’s not hard to tell when she can press her tongue against her clit and when her fingers are enough. Lexa adds a third finger at Clarke’s urging and laps the back of her tongue against the sensitive flesh once, twice, and it’s enough for the blonde to come crashing down, her hips leaving the mattress once more.

Lexa rides Clarke through the aftershocks, that are definitely wilder than they were when she came for the first time. Her thighs fall from Lexa’s shoulder as if they’re made of jelly and Clarke lets go of her hand to run her hands through her hair, dropping an arm against her face as Lexa’s fingers still inside of her.

As she crawls on top of Clarke, Lexa feels her skin prickling with arousal - she’s almost certain she’ll burst if Clarke says her name in that throaty drawl that she did just then. Her fingers remain still within Clarke, who’s lying boneless and blissfully spent on the mattress, as she kisses her way up her belly, dragging her tongue against the underside of her breasts and nibbling the sensitive skin. 

Only then Lexa realizes how little attention she’s given to what has become her favorite part of Clarke’s body. Leaning against an elbow to keep her weight mostly out of Clarke, Lexa leans down, placing gentle kisses, nothing more than soft pecks, all over her breast. Clarke reaches down until her fingers tangle with Lexa’s curls, scratching the nape of her neck softly and humming her approval. 

Lexa could do this for days - the softness of Clarke’s skin against her lips combined with her murmuring that made no sense at all made Lexa tingly in places she shouldn’t be, make her smile wider than she meant to. But she had different plans.

Switching to her other breast to give the same attention, Lexa begins to slowly move her fingers inside Clarke - first crossing and uncrossing them inside of her, then drawing them out and inside again. It’s a lazy motion, but that alone makes Clarke shiver under Lexa, tightening her grip on her hair. 

As she starts to pick up her pace, curling her fingers inside as she draws them out, Lexa feels Clarke’s wetness coating her hand and smiles against the stiff peak she has her mouth on. When she swirls her tongue against it and pumps faster into Clarke, Lexa draws a cry from the blonde, whose hand jolts down and stops her movement.

“Do you want me to stop?” She looks up at Clarke, worry washing down over her as the blonde frowns and keeps her eyes closed shut. Lexa waits for Clarke to answer her, but she seems too far gone for words, only shaking her head once. All she does is adjust Lexa’s hand in between her legs until her palm is far away enough so it won’t brush against her clit when she thrusts within her, motioning for her to keep going. 

She does as she’s told, basking in the incredible sight that is Clarke tossing her head back, teeth clenched as she pumps in and out of her in a steady yet lazy rhythm. Clarke wraps a leg around Lexa’s waist, changing the angle a little and effectively trapping her hand in between her legs, flush against her clit.

Lexa whispers sweet nothings against the sensitive skin of Clarke’s neck, feeling her pulse beating hard and fast against her lips. She goes stiff as she comes, her inner muscles clenching wildly against the fingers still buried inside of her - but otherwise she’s silent, holding her breath as Lexa coaches her down from her high.

Leaning on her hand and pushing herself up, Lexa draws her fingers out of Clarke and allows herself a selfish moment to gaze at the woman lying underneath her. Clarke’s eyes remain closed, a soft smile tugging her lips upwards and her limbs lie motionless beside her - she’s blissfully spent and Lexa gets all the credit. She plants a soft kiss on Clarke’s jawline, brushing her hair away from her face before dragging her hand down, the pads of her fingers tracing the curve of her neck and shoulder, landing right above her heart.

It beats hard against her palm - not fast, it has a slow and steady rhythm, but it pounds so wildly Lexa can  _ see _ it. She smiles against Clarke’s skin, letting her nose draw odd patterns as she wishes this could last forever.

This is what Lexa wants. These soft moments where nothing else but them exists, where the entire world is her and the girl she’s in love with.

Clarke stirs underneath her, humming lazily and smacking her lips, “What do you say we nap for a bit?” Her voice is sleepy already and she barely has the energy to lift her hand to embrace Lexa’s waist. 

Lexa can quite surely swear nothing in the world could make her happier than this sleepy woman, and she laughs a throaty laughter, kissing Clarke’s cheek as she murmurs in a teasing tone, “Um, did I wear you out?”

Both of them chuckle at that, and Clarke seems ready to fall asleep right there, sprawled in the middle of the bed with her feet hanging out. “Don’t get cocky,” Clarke says as she stretches like a cat getting ready for sleep.

Lexa presses a kiss on her sternum and slowly manages to drag the blonde upwards in bed, until her head hits the pillow with a soft thud. “I made you come three times in fifteen minutes,” Lexa teases again, pulling on the sheets until she can tuck them around Clarke, “I deserve to get cocky.”

Without ever opening her eyes, Clarke reaches out for Lexa and brings her down for a sluggish kiss, laughter bubbling in her throat, “‘kay, you do.” 

A smile tugs at the edges of Lexa’s lips as she watches Clarke’s breath evening out, her fingers combing through blonde hair for much longer than she intended to. Clarke looks peaceful in her sleep, the ghost of a smile edging its way to her even in slumber, her long lashes brushing her cheeks, no tension in between her brows.

Watching her like this makes Lexa crave to have it immortalized.  

Is this how Clarke felt when she saw her sleeping this morning? Did she feel this unrelenting fist clenching her heart at the mere thought that this sight could disappear without her capturing it? Did she stare at Lexa’s sleeping face and wish she could keep that moment forever? Did she wish she could keep  _ Lexa _ forever?

Shaking her head and trying to free herself from those delusions, Lexa walks over to where she dropped her bag, not even bothering that she’s wearing only her panties in someone else’s house. She takes in the living room once again, imagining Clarke wearing one of her button up shirts and nothing else, with a smile spreading through her face as she paints, and Lexa comes behind her to kiss the top of her head and tease her about the paint she managed to get on her bare legs.

Biting her lip, Lexa quickly gathers her things and slips back into the room. She isn’t that tired and napping in the middle of the day isn’t really something she does, but she doesn’t want to go home quite yet. With a quick email to her firm requesting the files she needs to read over, Lexa sets her iPad on Clarke’s nightstand, figuring she can work on her defense case as the blonde naps.

As she waits for the files to come through, Lexa whips her phone on a whim and snaps a quick picture of Clarke. The blonde has moved in her sleep until she was lying on her stomach, the sheets becoming tangled around her waist as she clutches the pillow in her fist. Her blonde hair frames her face in a sleepy way that couldn’t be manufactured, the smile still very firmly in place. 

Lexa stares at the picture on her phone and feels her own lips tugging up in a smile - she did it, she captured the softness that surrounds Clarke in her sleep.

She makes a mental note to ask the blonde if she can keep it and checks her email once more, only to find nothing there for her to work on. Lexa puts her phone down and walk around, glancing at the pictures Clarke has leaning against the foot of the bed and biting her lip - she wants to see it, but can’t quite tell if it’s her place to look at them without Clarke being there to let her. 

Her eye catches something else and she bends to pick it up, knowing that  _ that _ she’s allowed to - it’s the drawing of her. As she follows the lines and traces her own face mirrored nearly perfectly in blue ink, Lexa feels that fist around her heart again, squeezing it painfully until it hurts to even think about spending her days without Clarke. She swallows past the lump in her throat, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach when she looks at a sleeping Clarke, envying her steady breathing. Tears gather in her eyes and Lexa looks up to the ceiling, trying everything to shove those stubborn tears back inside their ducts - she hasn’t felt  _ this much _ in so long she barely knows what to do with herself.

There’s a ping from her phone and she draws a deep breath, walking towards it and picking it up as she sets the drawing down against the lamp. She checks her email quickly before setting it down and opening it again on her iPad, downloading the files she needs as she slips under the sheets. Resting her back against the plush headboard, Lexa draws her knees up and opens the first case file, trying her hardest to focus on what she’ll need to defend in three weeks time when Clarke throws an arm around her middle.

It’s grown dark around her by the time Lexa closes the case file she’s been working on - it’s one of the four she needs to know back to front by the end of January, and she’s pleased with all the color coded notes she made on the margins. She stretches her arms above her head, humming softly as the nodes on her back crack with the movement, releasing the tension her position left her with.

Her eyes are tired and make her wish she had brought her glasses so she could get rid of her contacts - which leads her to imagining having saline solution and a spare lens case in Clarke’s bedroom. She huffs at her own thoughts, annoyed at her ability to come up with the most unrealistic scenarios, and tries to remind herself this entire ordeal will soon be over and done with - but then she looks at Clarke.

Clarke moves  _ a lot  _ in her sleep, and mumbles a fair amount too. It’s mostly nonsense whispered against the pillow, but Lexa finds it almost as endearing as the way Clarke can go from star-fishing the entirety of her bed to curling up around herself within a minute flat. Now, Clarke has settled for lying on her back, hair mostly on her face, one arm against her middle, the other thrown over the edge of the bed. Lexa leans in and brushes the hair away from Clarke’s face, smiling at the way she snores softly.

Kissing her forehead before leaning back against the headboard, Lexa opens another file, determined to focus on the words instead of watching a pretty girl being cute in her sleep. She rolls her eyes at herself, stealing one last glance at Clarke, who managed to hit herself in the head when moving again, before skimming through the first page.

She makes through all of two pages when a ridiculously loud sound makes her jump out of her focused state. It takes her a moment to realize it’s Clarke’s phone, buzzing and ringing on the nightstand on other side of the bed. She hasn’t seen Clarke with a phone and doesn’t remember her putting one there when they came in, so she assumes it’s her personal phone - but why  _ the hell _ Clarke would use such a blaring ringtone is something Lexa can’t answer.

The phone keeps ringing - it’s an old fashioned ringing, something you’d find in a petrol blue landline phone with a rotary dial - but Clarke merely rolls over, hugging Lexa’s waist as she whines against her stomach, “Ugh, make that sound stop.”

Lexa smiles, ignoring the tickling of Clarke’s breathing against her skin as she swipes her blonde hair away from her face, “Babe, I think it’s your phone.”

Instead of getting up to answer it, Clarke hums and tugs Lexa closer to her, throwing one leg around hers, “Um… I could get used to this.”

“What? Being rudely awaken by your phone?” Lexa can tell almost for sure she’ll have that annoying ringing stuck in her head for the next five days, and she’s almost reaching over and answering it herself. But Clarke is all but blowing raspberries in her belly and Lexa is nothing if not weak for that sight.

“No,” Clarke places a soft kiss on her skin and untangles herself from the sheets as she rolls over to get her phone, stopping only to look at Lexa and say, “You calling me babe.” 

Clarke winks as she blindly reaches for her phone, a smirk firmly on her face, and it hits Lexa all at once that she actually did call Clarke  _ babe _ . She doesn’t do nicknames - she’s never called  _ Costia _ anything other than her name - but in a weird way that should make Lexa panic, it feels right. Somehow, the word falls effortlessly from her lips and hangs around them in an intimate way that Lexa could never have imagined before. 

She’s about to wrap her arms around Clarke and whisper “ _ babe _ ” on her ear once more, fully planning on working her up to orgasm number four, when she realizes the conflicted look on Clarke’s face as she takes in the name on the caller ID.

“Hi, mom,” Clarke’s voice is cold and dry, all the playfulness from a moment ago gone and replaced by bitterness she had carefully cultivated for years, “No, I’m home.” Lexa watches Clarke’s face fall, her brow furrowing in something akin to worry and disappointment, “I told you I couldn’t go, I’m working during the holidays.” Clarke worries her lip in between her teeth as the woman answers her, “Yes, mother. I know you think it’s disgusting, it’s still my job. Do you remember why I took it in the first place?” Lexa grits her teeth, pep talking herself to stay calm and not rip the phone away from Clarke and tell her mother off, remembering everything Clarke shared about her. “Oh, fuck. I- I can’t, okay? I can’t go,” she snaps and turns away from Lexa, as if that would keep her from hearing it.

Lexa considers leaving her alone for this, sneaking into the bathroom and emerging five minutes later wearing proper clothes so she can bid Clarke goodbye. But the thought of leaving Clarke alone with her mother, even if they’re miles away, tugs at something deep inside Lexa and she decides to stay put. 

She drops her iPad on the nightstand beside her phone and crawls towards Clarke. Lexa wants to grab her hand and draw patterns on it until Clarke is calmer and face isn’t drawn into a scowl anymore, she wants to kiss her naked shoulder and soothe her worries, she wants to make sure Clarke feels safe. Instead, she simply sits closer, biting at her lip and giving Clarke space to talk while being  _ there _ , if she needs.

Clarke runs her fingers through her bed hair, shoving it away from her face and huffing at the receiver, “What? Yeah, I remember Marcus.”

“ _ We got married in the fall. It was a small ceremony, nothing worth taking you away from your job for _ ,” Lexa overhears the woman talking on the other end of the receiver and she can’t quite tell it’s because she’s closer to Clarke now or because the woman raised her voice, “ _ We were gonna wait until you were home for the holidays to tell you about it and how we’re adopting a little girl in the spring. But since you’re too busy fucking people for money to see your family, I might as well give the news now.” _

Rage floods Lexa. It leaves her blind as she reaches for Clarke’s ankle, squeezing it through the sheets. When Clarke looks at her, Lexa can tell she’s close to crying. She looks small and vulnerable, her big blue eyes shining with unshed tears, her mouth turned down into a pout that reminds her too much of a broken four year old.

“You  _ what _ ? Why am I only hearing that now? You-” Clarke scrambles to pull the sheets up to her chest, covering her nakedness as if her mother were in the room to judge her even further. Even when she turns her face away from Lexa, the hurt in her voice is loud and clear, but she powers through the conversation, blinking fast to end her tears and taking a steadying breath before answering, “You and Marcus- you got  _ married _ and you’re  _ adopting _ a child?”

Her mother doesn’t seem to realize the impact her words have on her daughter, and keeps biting, “ _ I deserve another chance of being happy, Clarke. I deserve another shot at being a mother, to do better, to fix my mistakes. I’m building another family where no one has the same fucked up whore genes you do. I’m starting over, and if you don’t want to be a part of it, I’m glad. _ ”

Lexa lurches forwards on a whim and takes the phone away from Clarke, hitting the screen to end the call and throwing it on the floor as she scoots closer to the blonde. Clarke’s face is still turned and Lexa can barely see her profile, but that’s more than enough to see the pained expression on her face, the tears falling freely on the mattress, her hand clutching the sheets covering her chest so hard Lexa wonders if it might rip. 

Reaching for Clarke’s face, it takes Lexa almost no effort to draw her into an embrace as sobs ripple through her entire body. Lexa holds her tight against her chest, buries her fingers in Clarke’s hair as the blonde lets the tears fall freely. It pains Lexa to see her like this, vulnerable and raw, her body shivering with the sheer force of her pain. It drains all logical thoughts from Lexa who wants to both punch Clarke’s mom until her nose is smashed in and never let go of Clarke ever again.

She peppers kisses on Clarke’s forehead and runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face as the blonde cries helplessly. Lexa hushes her like her mother used to do when she was a child and runs the pad of her fingers up and down her back, hoping it’ll bring her any sense of comfort.

“You’re okay, you’re safe,” Lexa whispers gently against Clarke’s temple, mostly to fill the silence with something other than the quiet crying that breaks her and makes her feel powerless, “She can’t get to you.” Lexa knows it’s a lie - the words of a mother can grow roots so powerful no one will be able to pull them out and change their meaning. But Lexa will do nothing if not try, “She’s wrong. You know she’s wrong in everything she said.”

Clarke’s voice is a quiet thing, broken and stuck in her throat, when she ventures a few words, “What if she’s not?”

Lexa can only tighten her hold on Clarke at the blind conviction with which those words come across. “She is,” Lexa tries to utter the same conviction in her voice, needing Clarke to believe her, “You’re not a worthless daughter, you’re not a mistake, you’re not a  _ whore _ . She doesn’t know the real you and she’s missing out.”

“She’s starting a new family and she doesn’t want me to be a part of it,” Clarke adjusts her grip on the sheets, pulling it closer against her chest as if that could keep her from breaking, “And she’s right.”

Feeling tears prickling the back of her eyes, Lexa blinks them away quickly. She’s grown up in what everyone considered to be a broken family, but she’s always been loved. Both her mom and brother are her pillars and she’s always known that they’d support her no matter what happened, no matter how rough the patch they had to go through. Yet, Clarke is unrelentingly sure that her mother is better off without her.

“Your mother is wrong, Clarke,” Lexa swallows thickly at the sound of her own choked up voice and places a kiss on the top of Clarke’s head, “You had the right to know about her wedding, about the fact you’re getting a sister. And that girl will be the luckiest girl to have you as a sister, believe me. You’re much more than you give yourself credit for.”

Clarke’s body shakes as a new wave of tears hit her fast and hard.

Lexa clutches her closer, letting her bury her face in her chest as the sobs course through her, and runs her fingers through her hair until the whole body sobs die down to silent tears. Lexa worries her bottom lip in between her teeth and can’t help but wonder what changed for her to spill words like that, to feel this need to protect someone, to fall so undeniably in love in such a short time.

It takes Clarke sniffing and shifting in between her arms for Lexa to snap out of her reverie. She loosens her hold as Clarke pulls back, avoiding her gaze completely, “I’m sorry, I- I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” Clarke more mumbles than says actual words, wiping the tears away from her cheeks furiously with the hand not clutching the sheets, “I slobbered all over you.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Lexa smiles amusedly as Clarke dries her chest with the edge of the sheets, but it dies down quickly as tears keep running down Clarke’s cheek, “How are you feeling?” It’s a stupid question and Lexa realizes it the moment she says it.

Clarke ignores it altogether.

“I’m- I shouldn’t have answered the phone while I was with you, I shouldn’t- It wasn’t professional of me at all, I’m sorry.” Clarke speaks fast, her eyes trained on the sheets pooling on her lap. Her words make something inside Lexa fall -  _ it wasn’t professional of me _ , because this is, after all, a professional relationship. Lexa blinks and nods, furrowing her brow when Clarke finally meets her eyes, “I just- my mom-”

“She sounds like a bitch.” Lexa’s answer comes fast and the absolute certainty in her voice surprises them both.

Clarke smiles, “She is.”

Lexa smiles back, reaches for Clarke and wipes the tears away from her cheek. They seem to have stopped falling, now only barely pooling in her eyes. Before she can think it all through, Lexa leans in and kisses the tip of Clarke’s nose, “There, all better.” Clarke smile widens and Lexa can tell she did the right thing. “Do you have a bathtub in here?” Clarke frowns, but nods. “How about I run you a bath so you can soak in and relax a little while I make us dinner?”

It’s easy to fall back into a play pretend - an universe that exists only in Lexa’s mind, that has gained shape and depth through the course of the day; an universe where Lexa spends her evenings at Clarke’s, watching her paint as she works on one case or another; an universe where they’re free to love each other.

Clarke quirks an eyebrow, tilts her head, letting laughter bubble in her throat. The sound makes Lexa feel lighter with silly relief, “You’re gonna  _ cook _ .”

Feigning offense, Lexa frowns and lets her jaw slack in shock. “I can cook!” her voice is defensive and it takes her a while to realize what the tingling in the deep of her stomach means - she  _ wants _ to cook well, she wants to draw Clarke out of her bath with a delicious smell wafting through the kitchen and watch as the blonde salivates at the sight of her food.

But, as history tells her, she doubts that’s going to happen.

Indulging her, Clarke winks as she says, with amusement her disbelieving voice, “Sure you can, babe.”

Lexa rolls her eyes and gets out of bed, standing in front of Clarke with no shame in her lack of clothing. She helps Clarke up - except the blonde tangles her legs in the sheets and almost falls face first on the floor - and leans in for a kiss, linking their fingers as Lexa pulls her towards the bathroom.

It feels more familiar than it should, the way Clarke sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches as Lexa searches through her cabinets and gather supplies. Lexa pours the bath salts and throws in a few drops of lavender oil - Clarke tells her it’s her favorite, Lexa says it’s hers too - before helping Clarke inside and making sure she’s comfortable.

It feels like they’re a real couple, having a real lazy night in, when Clarke ask if Lexa could grab her some pajamas -  _ “Anything is fine, really. You should grab one for you too, so you’re more comfortable than in that fancy blouse and tight slacks” _ . She places a towel behind Clarke’s neck and a kiss on her forehead, saying she’ll call her when dinner is ready, telling her to call out if she needs anything.

It feels overwhelmingly domestic to cook for Clarke in Clarke’s kitchen, wearing Clarke’s pajamas - flannel pants and a loose gray t-shirt, a screaming difference from the matching silky sleepwear she was used to wear. Everything smells like Clarke and Lexa hardly has it in her to pretend she doesn’t feel perfectly content surrounded by that scent.

Lexa searches through the fridge and cabinets before settling for something simple - chicken rice and broccoli. She has to admit she isn’t great at cooking - she’d screw up boiling water if that was possible - but this is something she can actually cook. It’s the dish the cooks most often whenever she doesn’t have the patience for takeout, it’s all make in one pot and it still tastes really good.

And it takes her all of fifteen minutes to have the rice burnt to a crisp while the chicken is somehow black on the outside and still pink on the inside.

When Lexa hears the bathroom door opening, her shoulders sag in defeat. She turns the stove off and pokes at the ruined dish as Clarke pads her way to the kitchen - Lexa almost forgets completely about dinner when she sees Clarke with her head in a messy bun.

“Hi,” Clarke sneaks up on Lexa and kisses her neck, glancing over her shoulder to look at the skillet, “Did you set fire to my kitchen?”

Lexa sinks against Clarke’s body, fully ignoring the laughter coming from the blonde so she can focus on enjoying the way Clarke wraps her arms around her waist, “It’s not ready yet, I was-” she sighs, groaning at the sight in front of them, “I was going to fix it.”

The laughter gets louder as Clarke reaches for the wooden spoon and pokes at the burnt rice, “Babe, there’s no way you can fix that.” Lexa sinks a bit further, letting her lower lip jut out slightly in disappointment, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Clarke. “Awh, there’s no need to pout!” Clarke turns Lexa until they’re facing each other and she wraps her arms around the brunette’s neck as Lexa lets her hands find her hips, “Come on, you drew me an incredible bath that relaxed every bone I have and put up with my insane crying, I’m the one who should cook you dinner.” Clarke leans in for a kiss and Lexa sighs into it, tasting Clarke’s gratitude in the way her lips move against her. It lasts only a moment, and in the next, Clarke is playfully slapping Lexa’s behind as she moves around the kitchen. “Move your pretty ass, I’m cooking us something. Is pasta okay?”

Lexa hums her approval and circles the kitchen island, making herself comfortable in one of the stools as she watches Clarke moving around the kitchen. They fall into a comfortable silence as the smell of burnt food is slowly replaced by the smell of garlic and fresh tomatoes. Lexa offers help that is quickly denied, but she’s content to simply watch Clarke expertly chopping onions and checking the pasta without trouble. 

Stirring the sauce and gathering a bit on a wooden spoon, Clarke brings it over for Lexa to try, holding her chin as she guides the long spoon to her mouth. When Clarke leans down to kiss away a bit of sauce from the corner of Lexa’s lips, the world seems to shift on its axis and Lexa is more than willing to go with it.

It’s not hard for Lexa to admit to herself that she wants to keep this scene - Clarke smiling wide as Lexa comment on how good her cooking it - engraved in her memory forever, not anymore.

“Oh, I- Wait.” Lexa gets up and pads barefoot back to the bedroom, reaching for her phone and quickly swiping to bring up a picture as she makes her way back, “I took a picture of you when you were asleep, I wanted to ask you if I can keep it.”

“ _ Shit _ , you’re adorable,” Clarke teases and lowers the temperature on both burners, walking around the kitchen island to see the picture as Lexa holds it up for her, “Oh, I look cute. I like how the sheets- I- it’s tasteful, I like it. You can keep it.”

It takes Lexa by surprise when Clarke leans down to kiss her. Lexa sets her phone down without caring if it falls to the floor, reaches for Clarke’s face, cradling her cheeks, and pulls her closer towards her. Clarke sighs into her mouth, wrapping her arms around Lexa’s waist and pulling her closer as well until there’s no space between their bodies.

When Clarke breaks the kiss, pulling on her bottom lip with hers and placing a quick kiss on her cheek to go check on the pasta, Lexa is left with lungs that forgot how to work and a fuzzy brain searching for meaning.

She takes her place on a stool again, wrapping her ankles together to keep her wobbly body firm in place, as Clarke adds more seasoning on the sauce and drains the pasta. The blonde takes a noodle in her mouth, trying out the tenderness, and walks over to Lexa again just as the screen of her phone lights up.

Clarke eyes the screen and frowns as she sees the wallpaper - black with a dots pattern, one of the standards wallpapers that come with the phone, “Wait, your lockscreen is  _ that _ ?” Clarke sounds horrified and Lexa frowns back at her.

“What’s wrong with it?” Lexa asks in a curious tone. She never really gave much importance to what wallpaper her phone had, never really had anything to put on it, so she settled for the most sober and professional one.

Clarke seems outraged, “Nope, you can’t be my girlfriend and have that. Come on, let me just-” She stops mid sentence and reaches over for Lexa’s phone, opens the camera and positions herself so both of them are in the frame. Lexa stares at her with a confused face and she can see on her phone screen the amused eye roll that earns her, “Pretend you love me, we need a selfie for you to put as your lockscreen.” Schooling her reaction to that comment, Lexa stands up and leans against Clarke’s shoulder, both of them wearing matching smiles and kiss bruised lips. Clarke snaps the picture and inspects it, deeming it worthy wallpaper material. “It’s a good one, now go on and put it as your lockscreen. And send it to me so I can put it as mine too.”

With that comment, Clarke simply turns back to the stove and starts making their plates, piling more pasta than both of them could possibly eat. Lexa snaps out of her reverie and tilts her head, barely trusting her voice to stay composed enough. “Are we going to have matching lockscreens?”

Clarke looks at her over her shoulder and crinkles her nose in an adorable expression, “Yeah. Aren’t we gross?”

Lexa can only smile at that, lowering her head to her phone so she can change her wallpaper - they look good together. Clarke’s eyes shine through the deep blue, and they’re beautiful, if a little puffy. Her smile looks sincere and Lexa’s stomach lurches at that - what if,  _ what if _ . She can’t help noticing the way her eyes strain towards Clarke in the picture. “Yes. Yes, we are,” Lexa breathes out, looking up at Clarke.

Soon enough, they’re sitting side by side on the small couch, shoulders and legs touching. Clarke flips through the channels lazily until they settle into a cooking show -  _ “Maybe you can pick up a few skills _ ,” Clarke teases, which earns her a bump on the shoulder - and Lexa pours them wine.

Lexa sighs contently and she can’t help how  _ right _ this feels, to be eating pasta a pretty girl cooked her, wearing her pajamas and snuggling her on the couch as soon as they’re done eating so they can watch a show neither of them really care for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't take credit for the art Clarke made at all. The artist I based her painting on is Lindsay Rapp, an incredible artist from Philadelphia, and the paintings described are [Sea Queen](https://lindsayrappgallery.com/collections/muses-collection/products/sea-queen), [Christine](https://lindsayrappgallery.com/collections/muses-collection/products/christine), [MerMind](https://lindsayrappgallery.com/collections/muses-collection/products/mermind) and [Sunset Arrival](https://lindsayrappgallery.com/collections/seascapes-collection/products/sunset-arrival).


	6. december, 24th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, because I’m the absolute worst at describing clothes, this is what [Lexa](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e4/b9/54/e4b95452c9736fe04bdd8d3c9034f3f8.jpg) and [Clarke](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/24/a0/2f/24a02fa943caf7cb9552329824b6dcd7.jpg) are wearing for Christmas dinner. As for Lexa’s mom, think Julie Walters.
> 
> I’ll stop promising I can get a new chapter every two weeks, since apparently I have forgotten how to write chapters under 15k words. I’m crossing my fingers the whole updating every blue moon but delivering long ass chapters thing is okay with you guys. 
> 
> And, fair warning: somehow, I managed to make this even more gross than the previous chapter. I really don’t think Lexa stopped smiling all through these 20k words - _again_.

**_DECEMBER 24TH_ **

Lexa feels warm - not stiflingly so, but there’s a warmth surrounding her and pulling her back to sleep.

She grips at the edges of her consciousness, which is a barely there thing to begin with, and fight to keep herself in that sweet suspended state between dream and reality that never felt this good before. She blinks against the sleepy haze clinging at her and she can’t quite remember the last time she’s been this comfortable in bed - maybe back when she was a child and both her parents tucked her in after a long summer day playing outside with her brother. 

Keeping her eyes open for longer than a moment is almost torture but Lexa frowns, confused by how the light hits unfamiliar sheets at an odd angle. She’s nearly falling back asleep when she catches sight of a drawn on wall, a paint stained desk and succulents littering its top -  _ oh. yes, that’s right. _

She’s spent the night at Clarke’s.

The memories wash over her and she lets her eyes fall closed again, lets the images come to her like a flood - her reaching over to swipe pasta sauce from Clarke’s cheek, the blonde’s giggling as Lexa accidentally tickles her while trying to get the remote, their ankles intertwining as they brushed their teeth in the tiny bathroom, how Lexa fell into Clarke’s waiting arms and fell asleep almost instantly.

Shifting in her almost useless attempt to keep herself awake, Lexa feels arms tightening around her waist. She smiles - despite all the tossing and turning Clarke does the entire freaking night, she’s found her way back to Lexa. She pays attention to pressure points and her smiles widens. Clarke has one leg edged between Lexa’s, the other thrown over her hip, firmly trapping her in place as her arms circle her middle, squeezing her ribs every now and then. 

Lexa untangles one of her arms from Clarke’s koala hug and searches for the blonde’s hand, tracing odd patterns on her forearm as she trails down. Lexa is circling the blonde’s protubing wrist bone, drawing something akin to a flower around her, when the hand under hers turn, palm up and inviting.

She slides her fingers in between Clarke’s, smiling wide when the blonde squeezes her fingers once. “Good morning,” Lexa’s voice is heavy with sleep and she lets her eyes fall closed again, lets the warmth emanating from Clarke pull at her without putting up any fights.

Clarke hums her approval and nuzzles further into Lexa’s neck, despite her brown curls flying everywhere. “Morning, beautiful,” her voice is low and breaking with sleep and when she places a kiss at the nape of her, Lexa doesn’t even try to mask her shiver.

She turns in Clarke’s arms with more difficulty and complaint noises than she anticipated - Clarke’s embrace is fierce, she had clearly been very comfortable in this position. With some effort, Lexa lies on her side, facing Clarke, who somehow has already managed to cling to her again. Their legs lie intertwined as the blonde rests her hand on her hips, and Lexa gazes at Clarke, watching how the soft morning light plays on her face - her hair shines and her blonde eyelashes almost disappear under the bright light, her fair skin displaying the lightest shade of pink.

If there’s anything that Lexa might like better than a stark naked Clarke, is a Clarke clad in an oversized pajama shirt and flannel pants that don’t match.

Suddenly, Lexa wishes she could take another picture, immortalize this moment as well, capture how serene Clarke looks in that moment - she knows she won’t have another chance to look at her like this, she can feel this is the last time they allow themselves this. 

Instead, she traces the lines of her face, from her temple to her cheekbones to her jawline. Clarke smiles under her touch and shifts closer, tugs her tighter - as if she knows as well.

It feels like stealing happiness from tomorrow.

“Clarke?” Lexa whispers, wondering if she had fallen back asleep. Clarke looks peaceful, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as Lexa traces her neck until she meets her collarbone and then all the way back to her cheeks. She could live in this moment and never get tired of it. Clarke hums, sleep clearly being the first thing in her mind, and snuggles closer, using Lexa’s bicep as a makeshift pillow. The sight almost makes her choke back her words, but she powers through the molten lead in her stomach, “I’ve realized that, well, we haven’t left each other’s side in almost three days.”

Her voice is a barely there whisper, but it’s clear that Clarke heard her when sleepy blue eyes meet hers, “Huh, I guess that’s true.” Clarke blinks, probably trying to wake herself up, and Lexa wonders if she can feel her heart pounding in her chest when she lies against her arm once more, “Does that bother you?”

Clarke doesn’t look up at her to meet her eyes and Lexa can tell she hurt her - or at least, that  _ that _ was the last time she was expecting as pillow talk. Lexa shakes her head vehemently, sure that Clarke can feel her movements, “No! Not at all. I thought I should bring it up because we’ve agreed upon different terms and I was wondering if I should-” she half regrets bringing it up at all, wants to keep them both under the spell that they’ve managed to cast on their relationship, “Well, if we should change the figure we’ve discussed to something more appropriate.”

She keeps her gaze focused on the wall behind Clarke, even when the blonde draws back to look at her, cracking only one eye open, an amused glint coloring her features, “Is that you asking me in lawyer talk if you should give me more money?” She says it as it is and Lexa blushes in shame. But what they’re having is more than what she paid for, the business woman in her ached to settle her debts, so she nods, once. Clarke is quick to snort and cuddle back, burying her face on Lexa’s neck, “Nope, we’re good. With cuddles like yours, I’d do this for free forever.”

Nodding again, Lexa draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly.  _ They’re good _ \- Clarke’s words. 

Her heart is beating almost painfully against her ribcage, as if Clarke’s words had set it wild after being caged for a lifetime. Lexa blinks and tries to calm her pounding heart, more so she doesn’t scare Clarke than anything else. She doesn’t want to think about the implications of her words, about what it could mean - she doesn’t want to get her hopes up. Lexa nods once more, swallowing thickly before deciding to push it aside until she was alone and could scrutinize every intonation in every word. But for now, she’ll just let herself be.

With that out of her mind, she can once again shut her brain to anything that isn’t the gorgeous woman burying herself further into her embrace. Lexa lets the arm Clarke is lying on bend only enough so she can draw the pads of her fingers across Clarke’s back, smiling when the blonde hums appreciatively. Lexa closes her eyes when Clarke slides her hand under her shirt, scratching at the skin before running her fingers through it, alternating between going up her back and tracing down her stomach.

Lexa tangles her fingers in blonde curls, sets her chin on top of Clarke’s head, keeping her closer, and rakes her nails lightly at her scalp before running her fingers down her hair’s length, twirling it in her index finger, only to do it all over again.

Sleep finally wins their battle and Lexa gladly gives in, cuddling closer, adjusting their intertwined legs so no limb goes numb. She’s at the brink of falling back asleep when Clarke mumbles something against her chest, her shirt muffling her words. Lexa hums a question and Clarke draws back slightly, sleep clinging to her as well, and repeats herself, “What time is the thing?”

Lexa sighs and blinks herself back awake, the prospect of actually talking words making her wanting to bury herself further into the pillow, “Four.” Her voice is heavy and she clears her throat before forcing the words out, “My mom asked us to be there around four, four thirty this afternoon.”

Rolling away from her embrace, Clarke stretches, drawing her hands well up above her hands and tipping her toes down, and lets out a squeaky sound that Lexa finds absolutely adorable. Lexa props herself up on her elbow, realizing a change in position would be the best way to keep herself alert, and watches Clarke moving.

The blonde rolls further until she’s on her stomach and can reach her phone resting on her nightstand, frowning at it when the bright screen lights up and almost blinds her, “So, we’ve got a good seven hours to kill until then.”

It dawns on Lexa that she should go home and leave Clarke to rest - she might say she’s fine with spending so much time together when she’s aching for time alone. Lexa gnaws on her bottom lip for a moment before blurting out, “Yes- I- Should I go? I could wait in my hotel room, I have to go through the cases for January, and I can’t really work on the contract for yesterday’s clients without my computer.” She babbles fast, trying to convince herself that spending the day working alone will be good for her as Clarke bluntly ignores her and searches for her charger, plugging her phone in before turning to look at Lexa, “Besides, I’m sure you have a lot to do today and-”

Clarke shuts her up with a kiss. Lexa hadn’t even noticed Clarke moving with how caught up she was with her argument and it takes her a feel moments to relax and kiss the blonde back. She lets her hand fall on Clarke’s thigh as the blonde leans on her palm to support her weight as she leans over Lexa and deepens the kiss.

They pull apart a moment later, a blush creeping over Clarke’s fair skin that doesn’t go unnoticed, and she sits a bit straighter, smiling sincerely at the pretty lawyer wearing her pajamas, “I have a perfectly good working computer you can use, wifi if you need it and chargers for your iPad and phone.” Lexa knits her eyebrows together, trying to make sense of Clarke’s words in between the haze their kiss left her with, “The only thing I plan on doing today is spoiling you with homemade food.”

Lexa blinks. There’s a heavy lull in their conversation as Lexa brings herself to a half seated position, mirroring Clarke’s with her feet tucked under her thighs, propping herself up on her hand to stay at eye level, and lets her head tilt in more of a disbelieving gesture than confusion, “Are you- asking me to stay?”

Clarke holds her gaze for a long moment and Lexa can see a different kind of warmth in those baby blue eyes that look absolutely ridiculous in this light. Once again, she wants to ask for Clarke to stay still as she captures the moment in a picture, maybe a close up of long eyelashes perfectly framing the blue hues in her eyes.

Moving her gaze downwards and focusing on a crease in the sheets, playing with it and trying to smooth it out, Clarke half shrugs and bite down on her lower lip. “I am,” she whispers, doubt lacing her tone, “If you want to.”

“Then I’m staying,” Lexa is quick to answer, her last word looping with cheer. She scoots closer and reaches up for Clarke’s face, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear and tracing her jaw as she leans in. Their lips meet in a soft kiss, barely a moment long, and Lexa draws back, tilting Clarke’s chin until their eyes meet again, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

The “ _ forever _ ” gets stuck in her throat.

Eyes locked, Clarke smiles - first just the shadow of it, kept at bay by her teeth still sunk in her bottom lip, then it shines across her entire face and Lexa can’t remember why she thought falling in love would be such a terrible thing.

Lexa leans in again and captures her bottom lip in between hers, sucking at it and smoothing the teeth marks with her tongue. Clarke opens her lips against Lexa’s, welcoming her tongue against hers, sighing softly into the kiss as they deepen it. It’s slow and soft and sleepy, but it’s everything her soul has been craving for the last decade.

Reaching up to intertwine both her hands in Clarke’s hair, Lexa forgets that half her weight is being held up by her hand, loses her balance and plops back down against the mattress with a graceless whine, pulling Clarke back to her. Their kiss breaks suddenly and Clarke bursts into laughter, a free and amused sound that fill the entire apartment, tucks her face into the crook of Lexa’s neck before gathering herself.

“I see someone wants to keep me in bed,” Clarke falls back into her teasing voice - one she’s used over and over in the past few days and left Lexa a puddle each time - and adjusts herself until she’s straddling Lexa’s waist and leaning on her elbows until their lips are but an inch away.

Lexa huffs in feigned indignation, tracing the mattress with her hands until they fall on Clarke’s thigh, beautifully clad in flannel pants - she knows it’s supposed to be comfortable and anything but sexy, and yet, seeing Clarke sprawled on top of her, wearing pajamas sends a shiver down her spine straight to her core. “You’re the one pinning me to bed.”

Before Clarke can think of a witty comeback, Lexa reaches up for her lips, drawing her back into her interrupted kiss. Her hands trace up the soft fabric, smiling in the kiss when Clarke sighs contently and puts more force into the kiss. Lexa lets Clarke guide their rhythm as her fingers inch past the rem of the blonde’s shirt and palms splay across newly discovered skin.

Just as Lexa is lifting her shirt up to get it out of their way, Clarke mumbles something into her mouth. Laughing at the absurdity of Clarke even thinking she would be able to understand anything at all, Lexa breaks the kiss and leans to the side, a questioning look on her face.

Clarke’s shirt is nearly all the way out when she whispers against Lexa’s lips, “Breakfast.” Lexa is confused - she forgets even her own name when Clarke kisses her, how could she remember what meals are called - and looks at Clarke, who’s quickly gathering her bearings and drawing herself to an upright position, “We need breakfast. I’m making breakfast.”

Lexa is dumbfounded by the change, her mind a haze as she tries to catch up. “ _ Clarke,” _ she pouts, not a shadow of shame in her face as she clearly tries to manipulate the blonde into coming back to bed.

But Clarke is up already, putting a safe distance between them as she ties her hair in a knot on top of her head, “I’m starving and you are too and I can bet you forgot what breakfast even tastes like. Are pancakes okay?” Clarke isn’t  _ wrong _ , she is starving and her definition of breakfast is black coffee drank on the go. Lexa keeps her pout on as she nods and watches Clarke walking towards the bathroom. “Okay, good. I’ll make pancakes and you go do your lawyering thing.”

Burying her face on the pillow, Lexa can already tell her shit eating grin won’t leave its place all day.

Clarke makes pancakes and pours amazing coffee into a oversized mug as Lexa checks her emails and answers the important ones. She tosses her iPad aside as Clarke sits beside her on the kitchen island, giving all her attention to the blonde and her stories about where she gets the incredible coffee, rejoicing in the knowledge nobody has ever had this with Clarke. 

After breakfast, they take turn showering and Lexa borrows another set of clothes that smell too much like Clarke’s - a NYU grey sweatshirt and black leggings. She comes out of the bathroom to find the blonde sprawled on her couch in a matching NYU sweatshirt, only in deep purple instead of grey, and Lexa leans in to kiss her. 

Lexa borrows Clarke’s laptop - it comes with an array of warnings, ranging from  _ don’t jump if you see what’s in my browser history _ to  _ you’re dead if you touch my porn collection _ \- and soon enough she is completely immersed in the contract she’s drafting, pulling up notes from her iPad and checking her apps for an article or another she doesn’t know from the top of her head. She’s never felt this at ease even in her own office.

When Clarke asks if she can draw her, Lexa nods and stops herself from asking what Clarke sees in her that makes her want to draw her at all, lifting her chin and accepting the ‘thank you’ kiss Clarke offers her instead. 

They spent their morning like that - Lexa typing on her laptop and Clarke filling page after page of details Lexa would never even think of - the silence being interrupted only by Clarke asking Lexa to turn this way or that for a moment and Lexa’s huffs of frustration when she couldn’t quite find her words.

Lunch time comes quickly. While Clarke cooks her penne with grilled vegetables and chicken with a side of sweet potato souffle, Lexa goes through the drawings Clarke made of her. Each and every one of them baffles Lexa. They’re so different from the quick sketch she made with a blue ballpoint pen. These have more depth, the lines are more thoroughly thought of, and Lexa gasps at the sight of herself seen by an artist’s eyes. She wants to kiss Clarke and it burns in her core until she realizes that she  _ can _ kiss her - which leads to Clarke’s souffle almost burning, but it was worth it.

All too soon, their time together is over.

Clarke drives them back to the hotel so Lexa can change from her borrowed sweats and into something a little more suitable for Christmas dinner. Lexa isn’t used to be underdressed when even her ‘at home’ clothes look much like she could slip into a meeting without anyone even noticing it, but something about wearing Clarke’s clothes make her wish she could stay in them forever. But then, she wants to see Clarke looking at her with the same astonished gaze Lexa had on when the blonde showed up with black pumps, matching black tights, a deep red pleated skirt and a cream long sleeved shirt, the rounded neckline showing just enough cleavage to make Lexa want to forget all about Christmas dinner and introducing Clarke to her family.

Having a girl waiting for her to get ready is odd and unusual. Anya waits for her every now and then, but mostly she steals her makeup and talks about whatever club is all the hype that week. But knowing Clarke is in her room, lounging in her bed, leaning against pillows that already smell a bit like the blonde, sets something inside of Lexa on fire.

She’s almost running on autopilot as she carefully applies her makeup, heavier on the eyes than she usually does, and tames her hair until subtle waves fall down her back, changing into her outfit without much thought. Her mind drifts past the bathroom and into the bedroom where Clarke has the Russian novel Lexa has all given up on reading open on her lap. She soaks in the words in a way Lexa can’t - the blonde had half forgotten about her already as she shooed Lexa away to the bathroom and tucked her tight clad feet under her thighs. Lexa could watch Clarke reading all day without wishing for anything else.

When she looks at the mirror, it makes her glad she picked what clothes she would wear to this dinner beforehand instead of putting it together on the spot - there’s no way she’d be able to make her stupid, in love brain work for more than split moments at a time when Clarke keeps smiling at her because she looks “too good on Clarke’s clothes”.  She wears something she knows her mother will like - a lacy sleeveless shirt in a off white tone tucked into a bright red tulle skirt, paired with champagne sequin shoes.

Lexa likes the sweatshirt better.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in her stomach when Clarke looks at her with something akin to reverence. As she steps into the bedroom, Lexa watches Clarke as she takes her in, pausing on her hair, her eyes, her waist. Clarke is on her feet in a moment, book forgotten, and she pads barefoot towards Lexa, who towers over her with her four-inch heels. Meeting her eyes, Clarke spills “ _ you look beautiful _ ” and Lexa is sure she’ll say something flirty and silly after, but the blonde just holds her gaze. Setting a hand softly on her waist, almost with extra care so the fabric wouldn’t crease, Clarke reaches for Lexa’s face and gets on her tiptoes to place a kiss on her lips, linking their fingers together as they walk to the living room in search of Clarke’s pumps.

The ride to the state her mother rented for the holiday season is filled with wishful glances and soft compliments that go back and forth like it’s a rehearsed habit of them, formed by the years of being together.

When they find themselves standing side by side in front of the wide double doors, Lexa wishes nothing more than to go back to this morning, with Clarke cuddled beside her, in a room surrounded by art. The red clutch bends under her vicious grip and she has to consciously work her jaw loose as she stares a hole into the wood in front of her. 

Lexa jumps slightly as Clarke sets a hand on her elbow and turns to her with a worried look, “Hey,” she smiles softly, squeezes her elbow comfortingly, “You nervous?”

A nervous laughter echoes in her chest and Lexa leans against Clarke’s touch, taking a step closer to her, closing her eyes against the wild hammering of her heart against her ribs. Her voice is all but a shaky whisper, “I’m  _ terrified _ .”

“We’ve got this, okay? We’re ready.” Clarke’s voice is firm, sounding like she’s so sure of her words she can’t fathom how Lexa could think differently.  Her fingers trail down her forearm until she can link their fingers, her other hand reaching up to press against her ribs, and suddenly Lexa feels at home. “We can pretend to be madly in love for an afternoon,” her voice drops, almost if only to herself, “At least I know it won’t be that hard for me.” Lexa frowns at her, fully knowing Clarke can feel her heart pounding against her ribs, faster than ever. But Clarke doesn’t meet her eyes, staring at her hand as she slides it around her waist, “We’ll be touchy and your family will love me. We’ve learned everything about each other, we’ll be fine.”

Lexa, ever the glass half empty kind of person, presses on, her voice hitching slightly when Clarke passes a ticklish spot in her lower back, “What if that’s not enough?”

Tilting her head to the side and pouting as she comes up with a solution, Clarke sways closer to Lexa, letting go of her hand to wrap both her arms around her waist “Well, if it’s something about me, I’ll just play along. If it’s about you…” She pretends to think for a little while, but her smirk gives her away. Lexa rolls her eyes, grateful to Clarke for lightening the mood, and places a hand on her biceps, keeping her close as the other hand holds the presents they brought, “Okay, just say we’ve had some rough sex this morning and I hit my head on the headboard and my memories got a bit jumbled. I can totally pretend to have a concussion.”

Lexa snorts and laughter bubbles in her chest when she thinks about that scene playing out, “Oh my  _ god _ , Clarke.” She’s giving her mother a heart attack for Christmas, apparently.

“When in doubt, always mention sex to parents,”  Clarke shrugs, as if it isn’t an absurd idea at all.

“That’s some solid advice,” Lexa shakes her head, all her nervousness replaced by a sense of safety. They can do this, as long as Clarke doesn’t let go of her - and by how tight her embrace is, Lexa can almost tell she doesn’t even want to. “I found the one thing you’re terrible at: meeting parents,” she teases and walks a few steps to the side, dragging Clarke with her as she still refuses to release her, and rings the doorbell.

She smiles when Clarke buries her face where her neck meets her shoulder, breathing her in so deeply that Lexa can feel her doing so, and mumbles against her skin “I’m terrible at a lot of things.”

“I can’t really believe that’s true,” Lexa whispers back, leaning down, settling her hand in between Clarke’s shoulder blades. They stay silent for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being together before they get inside so the madness and pretense can begin.

Clarke grins against Lexa’s skin, her chest shaking with a silent laughter as she teases. “At least it’s not something major, like not knowing how to make rice.”

Lexa steps back, insulted beyond her wits even though a smile is still firmly placed on her lips, “You little shit!” She pinches Clarke’s side in retaliation and is rewarded by a yelp amidst laughter.

“What did you call me?” Clarke bursts into a free and careless laughter, shooting Lexa the most amused look she’s ever gotten as her hands leave her back and search for her cheeks, “Oh my god, say that again, it’s too cute.”

Pretending to pout for only a second before giving into a smile, Lexa gladly accepts the kiss Clarke offers her. It’s barely a kiss at first, their grins getting in the way of any deepening of the kiss. It takes them a moment to stop smiling and Lexa finds her way to Clarke’s waist as the blonde pulls her closer, both being suddenly so caught up on their kiss they don’t realize the massive door opening.

“Do you two do that every time you’re waiting for someone to answer the door or is it just for me?” They break the kiss and part, both having the decency of looking guilty as they turn to meet Lincoln’s eyes and take in his stand - feet apart, hands sternly placed on his hips, looking down at the two girls with a frown etched in between his brows.

Lexa would be terrified if she didn’t know her brother might have muscles stack on top of muscles, but is actually a big softie and an old time romantic.

And apparently, Clarke can see right through his tough and jealous big brother act. “I’ll try to keep my paws off your sister while you’re in the room,” she says with a smirk, stealing his words, and letting go of Clarke to wrap her arms around his bulky shoulders. He hugs her affectionately, laughing it off with her.

“You get a pass but only because you’re making her happy.” She gives in a ‘thank you’ kiss on the cheek and winks at Lexa as she steps beside her again. Lexa wouldn’t be surprised is Clarke’s displays of affection became the center of attentions at dinner, but a part of her still hopes that they keep it down to stolen kisses when no one’s seeing. It doesn’t take her much to realize she doesn’t want to share Clarke, even in these moments. She turns to the blonde and smiles, leaning in to place a kiss on her jawline. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lex smile this much. It’s almost unsettling,” he says to Clarke in a stage whisper, earning an eyeroll from Lexa.

“I can’t believe you won’t defend my honor and will let her grope me,” she lets out a puff of air, feigning annoyance with a very obvious smirk fighting its way to her lips.

“You say that like you weren’t clearly enjoying yourself.” Lincoln pulls her into a bear hug, lifting her from the floor with ease. She laughs at have been caught so red handed and hangs onto his shoulder, squeezing him back. His face is buried in her neck and he smiles against her, using the curtain her hair makes around them as a shield from Clarke’s eyes as he whispers, really low and soft this time, “Do you think she’s the one?”

Wriggling free from his arms, Lexa gives him a panicked look - is it so obvious to everyone around her that she wants to spend her life with Clarke? - before realizing they’re supposed to be together for almost a year now, and that plans for the future are common topics for long term relationships.

She quickly changes her expression to a exasperated one, rolling her eyes to prove her point - and she can only hope she did it quick enough. “Where’s your wife to keep you in check? You’re a hazard when you’re on your own.”

Mentioning his wife completely changes his expression, the prospect of his little sister getting married forgotten once Octavia is brought to the front of his mind. As he scans the living room over his shoulder, Lexa turns to Clarke - because maybe she is  _ the one _ , and maybe she has the same shit eating grin her brother always has when talking about his wife.

Clarke has taken her coat off and grabs the bag filled with gifts from Lexa so she can do the same, then passes her coat for Lexa to hang them both - it’s a wordless ordeal, done with the efficiency that comes with years of being together, and Lexa aches for them, for what they’ll never become. 

Lincoln turns back to find Clarke snuggled against Lexa’s side, her arm circling her waist so they can intertwine their fingers when Lexa lets her arm fall against her stomach. “I think she’s in the bathroom. She has her morning sickness in the afternoon.” He smiles at their joined hands and reaches out for the bag Clarke’s holding, taking it away from her so she can wrap both her arms around Lexa.

“Has she tried mixing peppermint tea and ginger ale? It sounds gross to mix them both but some people swear by it,” Clarke puts her chin on Lexa’s shoulder and as much as Lexa is aware of Lincoln staring at her, she can’t help her smile as she leans softly against Clarke.

Lincoln’s voice is far away when he answers, “We’ll definitely try it. She’s been feeling so miserable.” Her world gets a little fuzzy as Clarke draws lazy circles on her waist, Lexa lets her thumb slide against the back of Clarke’s hand and turns to place a kiss on Clarke’s temple.

She straightens up slightly to look at Lincoln, trying to focus on him instead of Clarke’s touch and being only mildly successful at that, “Have you told mom yet?”

“Have you told mom what?” A voice floats through the foyer, warm and loving as in the majority of Lexa’s childhood memories. Clarke almost completely lets go of her, probably out of respect for her mother, stepping aside while still keeping a hand on the small of her back. 

Lexa wants to tug at her and melt into her embrace again, but Clarke seems to have gone slightly paler at the sight of her mother trudging towards them, worrying her bottom lip in between her teeth with more force than she should. The thought brings new butterflies to Lexa’s stomach - was Clarke nervous about meeting her mother or was she just  _ that good _ at playing pretending

“About Clarke!” Lincoln widens his eyes in a silent warning for Lexa to simply follow his lead and turns on his heels, “Which I did, since she’s been keeping her hidden from us.”

“Oh, not you too. Anya is already mad that I hid Clarke for all these months,” Lexa plays along with Lincoln’s save, rolling her eyes  dramatically. She reaches for Clarke’s hand, giving it a soft squeeze before taking a step towards her mother and throwing her arms around her, “Hi, mom.”

“Hi, honey! I barely remember your face, I haven’t seen you in ages,” her mom has always been a dramatic soul and Lexa rolls her eyes playfully as the woman squeezes her middle. With a loud kiss on her cheek, she lets Lexa go and eyes the blonde wriggling her hands to a knot in front of her, “And you must be Clarke.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Woods,” Clarke says in a small voice, swallowing thickly as she steps forward and reaches out for a handshake.

“Just Eudoxia, please,” Lexa watches with a smile on her face as her mother engulfs a clueless Clarke into a tight embrace. It takes her a moment to soften into the hug, but Lexa watches relief flooding Clarke’s face as she clings to the back of Eudoxia’s sweater. “I’ve heard about you in the last hour and a half, and my daughter has been dating you for months? Where were you on Thanksgiving?” Eudoxia speaks into Clarke’s hair, playfully glaring at Lexa from over her shoulder, before finally releasing the blonde, “I swear I raised her better than this.”

“We’re two relationship chickens, I guess we were just waiting to see who’d run away first.” Clarke smiles as she shrugs, her answer coming almost too easily to her. Lexa barely has time to process how honest Clarke sounds before the blonde is beside her, a little color coming back to her cheeks when Lexa slides her hand into Clarke’s. It’s become an instinctive gesture by now, but when Lexa squeezes her hand softly and Clarke looks up at her, she knows she’ll never get tired of holding Clarke’s hand.

Eudoxia grabs Lincoln’s arms and smile at them so wide Lexa almost bursts into tears, “And who did?”

Clarke whips her head back to her mother and brother-in-law, “Surprisingly, no one.” The blonde brings her free hand to squeeze at Lexa’s bicep, her eyes falling on her again. “I guess we’re for real now.”

For a moment, there’s no one else in the room - only Clarke and her blue eyes staring at her, her teeth gently digging on her bottom lip to keep a grin from spreading. The butterflies on her stomach seem to have ganged up on her but she doesn’t care, not when her heartbeat matches the rapid fluttering of their wings.

“Good, because I have so much to learn! I want to know everything,” her mother’s excited voice brings her out of her reverie and reality smacks her in the face - she knows that if she lets her mother get her hands on Clarke, the poor woman won’t ever recover. “Did she at least talk about us?”

Lexa takes a deep breath and glares at her mom for a moment, before rolling her eyes at her brother’s boyish grin, “Can you all let Clarke breathe? She barely made it through the door.” She pulls at their joined hands until Clarke falls in step with her as she leads them away from the two, “Come on, babe, let’s get you something to drink.”

As soon as the pet name slips her lips, Lexa almost regrets it -  _ almost _ , because Clarke squeezes her arm and hides a grin on her shoulder. She turns and presses a kiss on the crown of Clarke’s head, rolling her eyes as she hears her mother giggling. The part that makes her wish she hadn’t said anything is when Lincoln says “she called her  _ babe _ , mom,” in a voice that belongs to a twelve-year-old girl when talking to her best friend about a boy band member.

“I don’t think I prepared you enough for this,” Lexa chuckles to Clarke as they enter the living room. More than anyone, she knows her mother means well, but she also knows the woman can come on a little bit too strong when she’s introduced to someone new.

Clarke halts to a stop, turning to stand in front of Lexa, taking both her hands into hers, “I absolutely love your mom. I wanna keep her.” 

_ Oh, the poor clueless soul. _ Lexa rolls her eyes, but smiles when Clarke tugs at her hand - it feels almost like a warning for her to be more polite. The domesticity of the gesture makes her eyes close slightly as she wills her heart to stay  _ quiet _ . “She’s the worst at meeting girlfriends,” Lexa says, feigning an annoyed sigh as she runs her hands up Clarke’s arms, “I think half of Octavia’s sickness is just bad memories from when she first met my mom.”

Clarke lets out a breathy laugh that Lexa feels on her neck as the blonde wraps her arms around her waist, “She’s not  _ that  _ bad.”

It takes her more than a moment to focus on something other than the way Clarke’s hands are splayed on the small of her back, fingers pressing against the fabric of her blouse. She chooses to focus on Clarke’s eyes instead and immediately regrets it - her blue eyes are the way to lose herself to the world, not make it come back into shape.

Lexa lets one hand fall to Clarke’s waist as the other comes up to hold the back of her neck. It’s hardly appropriate, but she can’t find it in herself to care. “Wait until dinner.”

Humming against Lexa’s skin, Clarke presses her lips to the line of her jaw, speaking in a sultry voice Lexa can’t fathom how she can muster at all, “If it’s really that bad and I somehow survive, what will be my reward?”

Lexa turns into molten lead and the only thought in her head is a long stream of “ _ no, no, no _ .” They can’t do this here, Lexa won’t survive being on the receiving ending of Clarke’s flirting without combusting into flames in front of her family. She swallows thickly, mumbling her answer in a high pitched voice, “I don’t know, uh, ice cream?”

Lexa freezes in place when the tip of Clarke’s tongue traces the line of her jaw and leans back to look at her, her blue eyes warm and wanting, “Only if I can eat it off of you.”

“ _ Jesus _ , Clarke,” Lexa breathes out and closes her eyes for just a moment before stepping back slightly as she wills herself to stay in the moment and not drag Clarke to one of the guest rooms.

Clarke gazes at her feigning innocence, her eyes roaming Lexa’s face with an amused glint. Lexa is pretty sure her cheeks are red with how badly they’re burning, but she leans in on Clarke’s touch as the blonde reaches up to cup her jaw. It never ceases to amaze Lexa how Clarke can go from ridiculously sexy and tempting to adorably sweet in just a fraction of a second.

For a moment, she forgets her surroundings, the tip of her nose colliding with Clarke’s as they lean in for a kiss - only to be painfully reminded in the next.

A disgusted noise is all the warning they get before Anya materializes beside them, “I can see your heart eyes from across the room. How the hell did they get worse in three days?”

It shocks Lexa to hear that - has it really been only three days since their company party? These last days have been much more than twenty-four hours long, if you ask Lexa. Her days usually melt together, one case blurring into the next one as she trades sleep for coffee, counting the days only by her morning meetings. Her life in Toronto is hectic to the point she gets lost in the days, never realizing when it’s Sunday until Anya shows up in her house with a hangover and drunk stupidities stories. 

But Clarke seems to have slowed her days down to a calming pace, and she enjoys every hour without the panic of not getting enough done. It’ll all be over soon, Lexa reminds herself, and she’ll regret not squeezing work in the holidays, but for now she’s just happy that she got to know Clarke, got to fall in love with this terrific woman.

They part completely, the only link between them being their intertwined hands. Lexa misses the warmth of Clarke’s body so close against hers and she wonders how long they need to stay before it’s polite to leave. “We had some good days together,” Clarke’s voice is soft and her eyes meet Lexa’s as they follow Anya towards the couch - that look says more than Lexa can understand, but the care and warmth behind it is clear.

Anya glances over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at Lexa for a moment before a smirk shows up on her face and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, “Do you mean sex?”

Lexa feels a hot wave crawling up her neck and cheeks, knowing very well the blunt question made her turn into a ripe tomato. Instead of answering, she gives Octavia a sympathetic look- the woman is sprawled on the couch, looking very green, all decency forgotten as she lets her legs fall wide open in her slouched position. Lexa hopes the gross concoction Clarke mentioned helps her through this rough patch and it gets better as the baby grows.

She’s so focused imagining how much Octavia will glow when her baby bump starts to show that she jumps slightly when Clarke’s arms close around her waist, hugging her from behind as she laughs against her neck before kissing her cheek.

“Great sex, yes. But we also spent some quality time talking and cuddling – do you know how hard it is to cuddle when you literally live in different countries?” Clarke kisses her neck softly as the words fall from her in an indignant tone. Octavia and Anya seem to eat it up, “I don’t think we’ve spent these many days together since we started dating, have we, babe?” She turns to look at Lexa, who cranks her head to the side to look at Clarke, shaking her head slightly as the joy of being called ‘ _ babe _ ’ washes over her - she’ll never get tired of hearing Clarke say it. “And, the most amazing part of all, I got to see firsthand how bad at cooking Lex is.”

Scoffing and rolling her eyes playfully, Lexa settles her hands on Clarke’s forearms, waiting for hell to break loose. She should have known the three of them would gang up on her, but Lexa can’t find it in her to be annoyed, so she just sways lightly from side to side as Clarke guides them.

Octavia holds her head up, looking slightly less green with the prospect of hearing someone else talking shit about Lexa’s cooking. ”You did? Tell me, let’s share horror stories.”

“Come on, we’ve all got one. You hadn’t proven her superb cooking yet?” Anya gets more comfortable on her seat beside Octavia, leaning her elbows on top of a throw pillow she puts on her lap - she looks like a kid who’s about to hear the most interesting story ever,  _ with puppets _ .

“I’m leaving,” Lexa raises her eyebrows, trying to muster something resembling a threatening look, but Anya’s eye roll lets her know she’s failed. It’s hard to look menacing when she can’t keep herself from smiling.

“No, you’re not,” Octavia says pointedly to Lexa as she adjusts a pillow underneath her head and turns to Clarke, “We are so starting a club.”

“Shush, babe, this is happening,” Clarke gives her a peck on the cheek before snuggling closer to her, leaning her chin on her shoulder and turning back to the two women on the couch, “Anyway, we were at my place yesterday and I was feeling really down, so she ran me a bath, which was really sweet of her, and decided to cook me dinner.” Lexa smiles brightly at the memory, looking down at her shoes, suddenly fascinated by how the sequin look under the warm light. “I was skeptical, Octavia and Lincoln had warned me off of it, but the bath was amazing and my girlfriend wanted to cook me dinner, I wasn’t gonna say no.”  _ My girlfriend _ . The words echo within her ribs and grow until she can barely breathe, let alone focus on something as feeble as  _ words _ . “At first there was a really good smell coming from the kitchen, spices and garlic and all that, and for a moment there I actually thought something good was gonna come out.”

Everything about what Clarke is saying is true, all the details that make them  _ girlfriends _ , all the little things they thought they’d have to lie about. Maybe they wouldn’t have to lie at all. Maybe everything they had together was enough.

Octavia grunts and shifts on her spot, throwing her legs on the couch until they’re on Anya’s lap, saying in a disappointed tone, “Oh boy, I’ve been there.”

“Ten minutes into my relaxing bath, I smell burnt food,” her tone is dramatic, like she’s telling the most fantastic adventure to a bunch of five year olds - and both Anya and Octavia play the part. Clarke lets go of her waist, gesturing wildly as to match the feel of her story. “And mind you, my apartment is above my gallery, so if she set fire to my apartment, I’d lose my house and my job.” Lexa rolls her eyes and clasp her hands in front of her, watching Clarke’s hands moving more than she’s paying attention to her words, “I got out and ran to the kitchen to find her staring at a skillet filled with rice that looked a lot like bits of charcoal and raw chicken.“

“Did she try to make chicken rice and broccoli? Because I can vouch for that, it’s really good,” Octavia says from her spot in the couch and Lexa hates it that she beams at the compliment. 

Anya scoffs and Lexa can feel Clarke laughing against the back of her neck. “It is, when she gets it right,” she almost doesn’t care when Anya makes a gagging motion - Octavia doesn’t seem so amused, growing greener with the sounds alone.

She really  _ really _ should work on her cooking, but she knows that once she’s back in Canada and back to working until well past two in morning, homemade cooking will be the last thing on her mind. For now, she plays along, pouting as she grumbles “I hate every one of you” before turning to Clarke, “Babe, I’m getting a drink. Do you want something?”

Lexa is just close enough for her to feel Clarke’s breath catch and the ghost of a smile appear on her lips. She sets her hands on Lexa’s waist and squeezes it softly, pressing a kiss on her neck and letting her go, “Oh, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Kissing her cheek and crinkling her nose at Clarke, Lexa makes her way to the dining area, where a sideboard holds all sorts of drinks - her mother really likes to go all the way when it comes to alcohol. 

Anya jumps to her feet, almost dropping Octavia on her way up, and half jogs after Lexa, “I’ll go get one too.” Lexa walks to the cabinet and grabs two glasses, squinting at Anya’s oddly wide grin. “You’ll never guess who your mom invited for Christmas.”

“I don’t know. Who?” Lexa asks in an uninterested tone, mostly to indulge Anya than out of curiosity - her big guess is Indra, but her mother had told about her already. She focus instead in choosing a good wine from the selection her mother set out, picking a chardonnay and pouring two glasses, waiting for Anya to go on.

“You’re drinking wine? Since when do you take wine over whiskey?” Anya eyes her suspiciously as she pours herself a healthy dose of scotch over ice cubes. Lexa busies herself with settling the bottle back with much more care than needed - she hadn’t even thought about getting whiskey, which is usually her go to drink. Anya comes up with an answer before she herself could, “Oh.  _ Oh _ . Clarkey doesn’t like whiskey, does she?”

Lexa picks up both glasses and purposefully strides back to the living room, ignoring Anya’s belly laughter as best as she can. It irks her more than it should - not much for how Anya would tease her about it for years to come, but for the fact that  _ she _ didn’t realize she was doing it until after it. 

Her last five Christmas had been spent in a whiskey haze, all the lights on the Christmas tree shining a little too fuzzy as she laughed a maniac laugh only a drunk in pain could muster. Now, she’s content with simply sipping her wine standing beside the girl she loves.

Lexa hands Clarke her wine, receiving a gentle peck on her lips as a thank you before the blonde turns back to talk to Octavia - they’re talking about remedies for morning sickness and how to fight off the exhaustion that takes over you. Lexa smiles at how into it Clarke is. With all the tips and home remedies she’s giving Octavia, anyone could swear Clarke had been pregnant herself to know it all first hand.

Turning to Anya, who’s clearly only barely keeping herself from teasing her again, Lexa sighs from behind her glass as she takes another sip, “Well, who  _ did _ my mom invite?”

Anya looks past Lexa’s shoulder, breaking into a smile as she merely tilts her chin up and gives Lexa a meaningful look for her to look behind her. Lexa frowns and tilts her head in question before turning on her heels and meeting the new guest. 

Her frown gives way to wide eyes and a slacked jaw, disbelief leaving her frozen in place for a moment. Before she has the mind to put her half full glass down, Lexa throws her arms around the man’s shoulders, squeezing him into a tight hug without minding the wine almost sloshing over the edge of her glass.

“Roan!” Lexa yelps against his shoulder, laughter bubbling in her chest to match his. He hugs her back and she can’t help feeling relieved at the familiarity of this - his wide strong hand splayed across her back, his broad chest flush against her front. She smiles widely and closes her eyes for a second, trying to keep her mind from traveling years back. “Oh my god, I can’t believe my mom didn’t tell me! It’s so good to see you!”

“Good to see you too, stranger,” Roan shoves her shoulder playfully and she laughs at his offended face, stepping back to fully see his face - his beard had finally stopped growing in patches and his hair didn’t go past his shoulders anymore, but his eyes had still the same glint to it. “I can’t believe you ditched my ass only because I had a kid.”

It feels like a slap and she knows she deserves it. She sighs and presses her lips together tightly, glancing at her wine and almost regrets getting it instead of whiskey, “I didn’t. Roan, come on. I’ve- it’s been rough.” 

“I can tell. You looked like shit whenever we Skyped. But damn, you look nice,” his tone is back to being playful and the kind smile on his face tells Lexa she’s forgiven - she desperately needs to make up for it, but she’s forgiven. He lowers his voice to a stage whisper, looking conspicuous with this squinting “Getting laid suits you.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, completely unaware of how closely Clarke is listening to that exchange. Her wine glass is empty and she sets it down before it breaks with how tightly she’s been holding on to it, her conversation with Octavia completely forgotten. She watches as Lexa turns back to meet Anya’s uninterested gaze, and even she can call bullshit on that. “Did you talk to Anya?”

“Even if I hadn’t. I mean,  _ please _ .” He gestures at her, as if telling her to look at herself. She knows she’s been quicker to smile in the last few days, but it’s mostly with Clarke and she wasn’t aware it was  _ this _ obvious, “You’re not the same Lexa Woods I used to have to bust my ass to get even a smile from.”

Lexa nudges him, fighting a smile in a feeble attempt to not let him win - she fails, miserably, and turns to direct her smile at Clarke. She scans the room for the blonde when she doesn’t find her sitting next to Octavia and finds her pouring herself a second glass of wine. Lexa’s smile widens without her consent at the thought that Clarke feels safe enough among her family to actually enjoy herself and drink a little more wine than she usually allows herself to.

“Is Chyler here?” Lexa draws her gaze back to Roan, her smile almost refusing to leave her lips as she sips her wine. She really  _ is _ happier than she’s been the entire time she’s known Roan, and clearly, it shows.

“Yeah, she’s napping. She’s very excited to meet her auntie Lexa.” Roan’s happiness is stamped on his face as well - it’s been like that ever since he adopted Chyler, four years ago. Parenthood agrees with him and for the first time in a decade, Lexa has a faint little voice in her head wondering if it would agree with her as well  “She doesn’t remember you, Lexa, that’s how long you’ve been gone.”

Lexa scoffs, “Of course she remembers me. I’ve seen her not even three years ago.”

“And she’s  _ six _ , that’s half her  _ entire life _ .” Roan pulls a dramatic tone, trying to guilt trip Lexa and being oddly successful at it. She pouts and crinkles her nose at him when he lets out an exaggerated sigh,  “She has no recollection of you.”

She rolls her eyes, ready to remember him all the time they’ve Skyped in the last year alone, when she feels a warm hand sliding across the small of her back. Lexa turns her head to find Clarke wrapping an arm around her waist, firmly clinging to her hip as a smile fixes on her face but barely touches her eyes. 

Changing her wine glass to her free hand so she can snake a hand around Clarke as well, Lexa leans in to press a kiss on her cheek, dragging the tip of her nose down her skin before turning to Roan, “Oh, this is Clarke. Clarke, this is Roan.”

“You’re the New York Chick, right? I’ve heard about you.” Roan smiles warmly, going for a hug at the same time Clarke reaches out for a handshake. After an awkward moment, they settle for shaking hands - Lexa watches the interaction a little too fascinated when she notices Clarke gripped his hand a little too hard to be seen as friendly.

“I can’t really say the same,” her tone is cold and controlled, icy blue eyes shooting daggers at Roan. 

Lexa plays with the fabric under her fingers, drawing half circles on Clarke’s waist with her thumb, trying to ease the mood of the conversation, “Roan and I went to law school together.”

Roan seems to pick up something Lexa is still in the dark about, turning his voice sickly sweet and filled with more intention than it was necessary, “Oh, we did a  _ lot _ more than that.” With her eyes still glued to Clarke, she sees clearly when the blonde locks her jaw - at the same time she tightens her grip around her waist, pulling her flush against her side.

Clarke could possibly be jealous,  _ could she _ ?

Shaking her head at her own impossible thoughts, she turns to Roan, catching his eyes in a warning before giving in, “We… Well, we sort of dated.”

“Sort of?  _ Excuse you _ , we went out for two entire years,” he makes a show of the sentence and leans in towards Clarke, getting dangerously close and finishing his thought in a whisper, “She can tell you otherwise, but those were the best two years of her life.”

Watching the exchange, Lexa can see both how amused Roan is with this entire ordeal and how close Clarke is to punching his face. She works her jaw loose for a moment, before gritting her teeth again and closing her eyes briefly to steady her breathing - she can feel how heavy Clarke’s breathing is against her own ribcage, can see it in the fast rise and fall of her chest.

Maybe jealousy isn’t a too far fetched idea.

As enticing as the idea of Clarke being jealous of  _ her _ is, Lexa doesn’t want the blonde to feel uncomfortable. She presses her nose against Clarke’s locked jaw, trying to ease the knot in it, as she turns to the man, her voice coming out almost threateningly, “Roan,  _ please _ .”

He takes a step back, putting his hands up in defeat as his smile turns back into the friendly one Lexa’s relied on back in the day, “Lexa is one hell of a good girlfriend.”

“I know she is,” Clarke seems to relax ever so slightly against her and the blonde turns to Lexa, their noses nudging with how close they are. Lexa begins to draw back only to have Clarke search her for a kiss. It’s a chaste kiss, but both women have a smile on their lips when they part. “We’ve been together for almost a year and she’s been fantastic every minute of it.”

Roan’s smile matches the one Anya gave Lexa a few minutes ago - one that tells her that a merciless teasing session will take place as soon as she’s left alone and away from Clarke’s gaze. He turns to Clarke, “We need to have a chat after dinner. I have to tell you about the time she almost threw up in the Toronto's mayor’s doghouse.”

“She does not need to hear that story, Roan,” Lexa laughs at the memory - in her defense, she didn’t know she was allergic to clam shells - and she finds herself hoping Clarke and Roan get along. He better try to be friendly, he better be aware of how important Clarke is to her - how important she’s pretending Clarke is, she tries to correct herself, but it doesn’t get her far. “God, where’s Kelsey to keep you in check?”

“The  _ bitch _ left me alone with our kid for the holidays,” Roan sighs dramatically and lets his shoulders sag slightly, getting a soft laugh out of Lexa. She had forgotten how Roan’s artistic vein always seem to make an appearance in the most inopportune times. “I’m getting a divorce and you’re defending me, you better get me Chyler’s guard.”

“Saving lives doesn’t come with a social calendar,” Lexa arches her eyebrow to Roan, who does little but scoff and roll his eyes, as if Kelsey doesn’t text him a billion times in between surgeries. She chuckles softly and Clarke’s grip around her tightens ever so slightly, slender fingers curling part of her blouse into a fist. “Don’t you have a daughter to check up on?”

Roan glances at the vicious grip Clarke has on her and laughs, closing his eyes as he shakes his head. He turns to look at Lexa from over his shoulder as he takes the stairs two at a time, “You’re not getting out of it that easy.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, Clarke relaxes beside her. Lexa can feel the muscles in her spine loosening, her arm growing softer around her. She unclenching the fabric of her blouse from her fist and smoothing it out lightly, before letting go completely of her, “I need some fresh air.”

Clarke is gone before Lexa can say anything. She can barely catch a glance of her blonde hair floating behind her as Clarke takes wide strands, looking like she needs to be anywhere but near her. Her gaze follows Clarke disappear through the side door and reappear in one of the tall windows, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she runs her palms up and down her arms, trying to generate some heat.

Lexa twirls her wine as she considers what to do next. If Clarke were actually her girlfriend, she’d go outside and ask what’s wrong. But Clarke, the woman she’s doing a business transaction with, might only need some time to herself away from the insanity Lexa’s family is shaping up to be.

Setting her wine down on the coffee table and ignoring Octavia’s and Anya’s questioning looks, Lexa grabs the fluffy blanket thrown over the back of the couch and wraps it around her shoulders, going after Clarke.

“Want to snuggle?” Lexa says carefully, opening her arms to let Clarke into a hug so she could wrap her arms around the blonde as they talked. Instead, she gets a dirty look from Clarke, who crosses her arms over her chest in a clear rejection of Lexa’s proposal. She drops her arms and wrap the blanket around herself, taking a step closer to Clarke, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Lexa.” It comes out in a tone too similar to a snap for either of them to believe it was sincere.

Lexa settles to watch Clarke pace and forces herself to believe she’s doing that to warm herself up and nothing more. “You were a bit weird with Roan, I wanted to check on you.” Clarke rolls hers eyes at that comment and Lexa feels her blood turning cold at the blatant despair in Clarke’s stare. “I- I can give you some space if you want.”

She bites her cheeks to keep bile from rising to her throat. Clarke has never looked at her that way - not when they first met, not when Lexa all but called her a whore,  _ never _ . It feels plain wrong to be at the receiving end of that stare. Lexa wants to search the blue pools for something akin to disgust or hatred, but she’s too scared of actually finding anything like that in them.

All she can do is cast her eyes on the floor and wait until Clarke tells her to leave her alone.

“It’s fine, whatever,” Clarke’s words come out as a bite and Lexa forces herself to glance up - she finds wild blonde hair, messed by the cold wind, blushed cheeks and a fierce look in her eyes. A part of her wants to say she looks cute, that they should go inside and get warmed up, a part of her wants to kiss her if only to give her something to take warmth from. But the fire in Clarke’s eyes halt her thoughts. “I just-” Clarke stops and turns to Lexa, “Somehow, your mom thought it was a good idea to bring your ex-boyfriend over when the entire family is meeting your current girlfriend. She  _ clearly _ wants us to work out.”

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

Lexa tilts her head and tries to hide her grin into the folds of her blanket, pulling the fabric tighter around her, “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Clarke all but snarls and Lexa feels warmth flooding her stomach - she’s well aware this is all kinds of inappropriate, but she’s turned on by this raging Clarke. The blonde runs her fingers through her hair, messing it up as the wind whips it to the other side, and she returns to her pacing. “He’s clearly still hung up on you. And you were certainly okay with his  _ shameless _ flirting.” Lexa is about to say something when Clarke turns on her heels to pace to the other side of the patio, glaring at Lexa and spitting to gritted teeth, “I was standing  _ right beside you _ and he kept winking and grinning and-” Clarke starts stuttering and Lexa can almost see it dawning on her that she’s overreacting, “talking about how he was the best you ever had and- and seducing you with his cute kid.”

Chyler really  _ is _ the cutest kid, but Clarke has no way of knowing that. Lexa fights a chuckle with all she has, but she can’t keep the amusement from her voice, “Are you jealous, Clarke?” The  _ k _ sound comes out sharp and throaty, knowing it does a number on the blonde.

“I’m not,” Clarke whips her head, eyes wide as if the idea of her being jealous never even crossed my mind, “What would I even have to be jealous of? We’re not really dating, none of this is real. I can leave you two to it if that’s what you want,” the blonde gestures wildly towards the house and grits her teeth again, resuming her pacing.

Her words are meant to wound, Lexa can tell that much - but they come out sounding a lot more like Clarke is trying to convince herself that what she’s saying is true. Lexa  _ knows _ she shouldn’t be so gleeful to see Clarke this worked up, but she lets herself savor it a bit more. It’ll be one of those memories she’ll cherish when she’s alone again.

She wraps herself further into her blanket as she watches Clarke pull at her hair, hiding her shameless smile in the folds. Lexa has half a mind to go inside and get another blanket for Clarke so they can continue this little scene without the blonde freezing to death - her lips are dangerously close to a blue hue, despite her neck being flushed with heat her anger is fueling her with.

“How could you date someone who calls his wife a  _ bitch _ for two years?” Clarke snaps again, folding her arms over her chest as she shakes her head, a little cloud forming in front of her as she speaks, “I can’t you see you doing that.”

Lexa sighs, deciding it’s enough - as amusing as this is, she doesn’t want Clarke to catch pneumonia. She takes a couple of steps forward, getting in Clarke's way and keeping her still for long enough that she can explain, “Kelsey is Roan’s husband. And they call each other bitch all the time, it’s an endearment term for them.”

"What?" The word falls from Clarke's lips sounding more like an involuntary noise of surprise than an actual thought out question. Lexa bites her bottom lip to keep herself from grinning at Clarke’s dumbfounded expression and simply waits a moment until Clarke’s eyebrows are back down before talking.

Lexa searches Clarke’s eyes, locking them into hers as she begins - she wants Clarke’s attention, wants her to hear every word and understand each of them. “He’s gay. We didn’t date, I just... attended events with him,” they did spend a lot of time together, but it was mostly spent talking about what boy Roan was crushing on while Lexa ate all his snacks “He comes from an influential family, somewhere I could meet people and build a solid network. And he needed a beard, some arm candy for his father not to disown him.” Lexa fights against the memories so she can focus on Clarke, who seems to be softening as the real story is stitched together, “He… He was the first one to make me laugh after Costia. Roan pulled me out of my grief.”

The silent lingers and the wind howls so loudly now Lexa wouldn’t be able to hear Clarke’s faint “ _ oh _ “ if she weren’t standing so close, waiting so desperately for a reaction. Lexa gives Clarke a shy smile as she opens her arms again, welcoming Clarke into a hug and wrapping her arms around her to warm her up.

They stand like that for a long while and Lexa can barely tell if Clarke is getting any warmer or if she’s getting colder. She runs her palms up and down the blonde’s back, trying to get the friction to generate heat, and almost loses the blanket a couple of times - she can’t tell if it’s because she wasn’t holding the fabric tightly enough or because the way Clarke buried her face in the crook of her hair and each breathing makes her shiver. 

Clarke sneaks her hands under Lexa’s blouse, palming her freezing hands against the warm skin of her back and Lexa yelps, jumping slightly. Clarke laughs against her neck and straightens up to press a kiss on the underside of her jaw. “I’m sorry,” her serious tone let Lexa knows she meant more than startling her with her cold hands, “Are we okay?”

Lexa adjusts her hold on Clarke and tilts her head to meet blue eyes, her voice as soft as her gaze, “Yeah, we’re okay.”

She leans down to press a quick, chaste kiss on Clarke’s lips - for good measure, to show that they  _ are  _ okay. Clarke captures her lips again, running her tongue across her bottom lip as they part, a mischievous look lighting up her face, “Can we make out?”

Narrowing her eyes, Lexa tilts back to take Clarke in. The girl is still wrapped around her and she has her eyebrows lifted in suggestion, her lips tilted in a grin. Lexa can’t help but wear a matching smile as she asks, “Is this because you want to prove  _ you _ ’re the best I’ve ever had and not Roan?”

Clarke considers her suggestion as she straightens up, taking her hands away from Lexa’s skin. In one swoop movement, she takes Lexa’s blanket away and wraps around herself, catching her eyes, “Part because of that,” her blue eyes burn bright in the fading sunlight as she smirks, “Part because it’s exciting to kiss when a parent might find you.”

Lexa frowns, fighting a laughter that bubbles in her chest, “How old are you? Fourteen?”

The sound of Clarke laughing makes Lexa smile wider, wrapping her fingers around Clarke’s and letting herself be pulled towards the back of the house. It’s barely hidden, only a sad bush that has survived the cold weather keeping them from being in full view from the living room’s window. When her back hits the wall, Lexa swears she doesn’t care if the entire world sees them.

Being told she was going to make out with a pretty girl made Lexa completely forget about how cold it was outside. But Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s neck, letting the blanket engulf them both as she leans in for a kiss - their noses bump and Lexa smiles, she feels a matching smile from Clarke when their lips meet, and everything is right again.

Lexa lets her hands wander around Clarke’s hits, tracing the swell of her behind before settling for the spot in the small of her back and pulls her flush against her body. She opens her lips at the same time Clarke darts her tongue out and trace her lower lip and the kiss deepens. 

It’s only after Lexa starts seeing white dots behind her eyelids that she pulls apart.

Her hand traces up Clarke’s side, mapping each inch until she cups her cheek, holding her in place where she places soft kisses on her cheek, “You are, though.” Clarke pulls back only enough to give Lexa a questioning look and Lexa closes her eyes for a moment, gathering courage to say the words before she whispers, “The best I’ve ever had.”

Clarke laughs heartily against her cheek and dips her head to kiss Lexa again. Lexa takes everything Clarke pours into her, pulling the blonde impossibly closer when their tongues slide against each other in a rhythm that has grown so familiar but still manages to make her stomach flutter. 

Lexa breaks for air again - she forgets to breathe when Clarke has her lips against her, she forgets she even needs oxygen when the blonde is that close - and Clarke presses against her, letting her forehead rest on Lexa’s. When she speaks, her voice is a barely there sound, a breeze that almost doesn’t make it to her, “Lex. Is this- is this real?”

She feels the need to pull back and look at Clarke’s eyes to answer this, but the blonde refuses to change positions. Lexa circles her waist and pulls her close until every inch of them is touching, and lets her fingers intertwine with the fine hairs of Clarke’s nape. The answer floats in her mind, fighting more reasonable ones, one that would be safer to say, but Lexa whispers it anyway, “It’s real. We’re real.”

Her words seem to stir something inside Clarke - Lexa can feel her back muscles relaxing, her breathing returning to normal. “We are,” she repeats almost in disbelief and giggles against Lexa’s cheek.

Their lips meet again, more urgent and demanding, and Lexa is happy to give everything to Clarke. The blonde lets go of the blanket, that soon falls off their shoulders and pools on their feet, and holds Lexa’s face in between her hands. Lexa keeps up with the new found rhythm of their kiss and something inside her tells it’s way too much for a make out session when your entire family is one wall away. 

She quickly shoves those thoughts away when Clarke edges her thigh in between hers, pressing against her hard enough for Lexa to break the kiss. She finds herself shamelessly panting against Clarke’s collarbone, her forehead resting on her shoulder as the blonde wanders around her body. Lexa sags against her as Clarke peppers kisses on her neck, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet the skin as her hands drop low and squeeze her ass. If she moans, she can only hope it’s low enough no one will hear.

Clarke’s hand bunches the fabric of her skirt and Lexa is ready to let go of any self control and let Clarke her way with her up against the wall. That is, until the blonde’s free hand finds its way to her inner thigh - her fingers feel like ice cubes against the warm skin and Lexa yelps, jumping away from the sudden feeling.

Clarke stares at her, frozen in place with the worry of having hurt her printed in those wide blue eyes. Lexa reaches down and wraps both her hands around Clarke’s, bringing them up and blowing hot air against the skin. Her own hands aren’t that warm and it doesn’t take much for her to long being alone with Clarke, tucked inside her sheets with art supplies all around them.

Lexa kisses Clarke’s knuckles, whispering against them, “Your hands are  _ freezing _ .” Lexa relaxes as Clarke smiles sheepishly and rubs her own hands together. Lexa can’t help kissing the tip of her nose, “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Picking up the forgotten blanket and wrapping it around them both, Lexa adjusts her grip on the edges with one hand, securing it, and lets her arm envelope Clarke’s waist as they walk inside. They bump hips for a few steps, until Clarke stops them with a light tap on Lexa’s thigh and gestures for them to match their steps. Lexa follows her silent instructions - right foot first, then left, then right again - and presses her tighter against her body.

The air inside the house is so arm Lexa can feel her skin prickling uncomfortably, but she’s grateful for it nonetheless. Clarke takes the blanket off their shoulders and Lexa reluctantly lets go of her waist, turning to find the blonde almost shivering. She tosses the blanket on the back of the couch - if it hits Anya on the face, she doesn’t look long enough to see it - and rubs her palms against Clarke’s arm, the friction warming her up quickly.

She’s about to ask if she’s okay, if she wants to borrow a sweater from her mom, when the woman pops her head in the living room, “Clarke, honey. Would you mind helping me and Linc in here?” Eudoxia gestures vaguely towards the kitchen, being way too obvious about her intentions. Clarke is quick to agree, nodding enthusiastically before giving Lexa a quick peck on the cheek.

Lexa twists her fingers into a knot as she watches both women walking away. In a last effort, she shouts,  “Want me to go too, mom?”

“Nope, just your girlfriend,” her mom waves her away without even looking at her. Clarke looks over her shoulder, a bright smile washing over her features as she winks - it calms Lexa, even if slightly, and she watches them until the door closes behind her mom.

Breathing in deeply to calm her nerves, she turns to find two pairs of eyes staring at her. Anya’s smirk is telling, but it’s Octavia who chims in, “You’re  _ so  _ smitten.”

Before Lexa has time to embarrass herself with a high pitched ‘ _ am not!’ _ yelp, Anya says in her all too common mocking voice, “What’s got your panties in a bunch like this?” She narrows her eyes at Lexa’s silence, tilting her head as if she’s studying her, “Are you afraid Eudoxia will  _ scare her away _ ?”

The last three words are supposed to be ironic, but it is a concern and Lexa isn’t proud of the shiver that runs down her spine. In that moment, Clarke isn’t someone who can’t be scared away because she’s paid for until the New Year’s. In that moment, she’s simply Lexa’s girlfriend meeting her scary mom for the first time.

Lexa bites her lip, trying to keep her cool that is quickly running away from her, “ _ Of course _ I am. Mom can’t do normal when it comes to girlfriends. Remember the horror stories from when Costia met her? Remember  _ Octavia _ ?”

Anya chuckles, nudging Octavia’s thigh that is thrown across her lap, “Oh man, yeah. That was a fun weekend.”

“You laughed at me when I was being interrogated by my future mother in law?” Octavia’s jaw drops and her offended tone is loud and shrieking. In her attempt to take her legs away from Anya’s teasing, she almost knocks her knee against the blonde’s jaw. The sight calms Lexa a bit more - Octavia survived it, Clarke will survive it too.

Anya grabs both Octavia’s legs and pull them closer to her, keeping them both from falling to the floor, “Shut up, fattie. We’ve been doing the same.”

The nickname tips something off on Lexa - does Anya know? She’s ready to get dragged into what she’s sure to be a heated discussion about baby names - Anya will try to convince everyone to name the baby something ridiculous like “The Hulk” - but before she can say anything, the most adorable sight catches her eyes.

Roan is carrying a sleepy Chyler down the stairs, her tiny fist rubbing the sleep away from her eyes as her dad shushes her and tries to get her attention to the new guest. For a moment, Lexa just watches how beautifully  _ right _ they fit together - Roan has her shoes and rag doll in one hand, and Chyler in the other arm, her white tights clad feet dangling with each of his moves. 

When little Chyler drops her head on Roan’s shoulder and fights sleep so hard her eyes roll, Lexa can swear her heart melts.

It takes the girl a while to wake up and Lexa can’t help the dangerous path her thoughts take. As she watches the deep, slow breaths Chyler takes, Lexa wonders if it’ll be their baby that falls asleep on this couch a few years from now - Clarke carrying it around in a sling, insisting on helping around with their sleepy baby strapped to her chest. 

Treacherous, powerful images flood her mind without her permission.

Clarke sipping tea in the morning light and singing soothing lullabies to her baby bump. Both her and Clarke taking a Sunday afternoon to paint the nursery room and ending up cuddling in the rocking chair. Waking up in the middle of the night to find a baby burrito sleeping in between them. Coming home after a long day in court to find Clarke cooking with a baby wrapped around her waist. Taking their toddler, all dressed up in fancy clothes, to the opening night of Clarke’s gallery.

Then she realizes she doesn’t even know if Clarke likes tea, if she wants to have kids - if what they have will last long enough for her to find out.

Her heart is heavy when Chyler half stumbles towards her, hugging her hello and dragging her to see what Santa put in her stockings. By the time Lincoln comes to the living room to call everyone for dinner, Lexa is sitting very unladylike on the floor, putting together a 1,000 piece puzzle that made Chyler so overwhelmed she has started shaking. They leave it where it is - she has half a mind to come back and finish it after dinner, maybe bring Clarke into it too - and Chyler hops to the dining room, making “hmm” noises at the wonderful smell coming from the table.

Lexa finds Clarke bringing the peas to the table and her heart aches all over again. She reaches out for the blonde and gives her a kiss on the cheek, placing a delicate hand on her stomach without even realizing what it meant. “How bad was it? Did she drill you? Are you okay?”

“Tell you in a moment,” Clarke smiles and puts her hands on top of Lexa’s, squeezing it lightly as she intertwines their fingers. The only thing that calms Lexa down for the moment is Clarke’s thumb caressing the back of her hand as they take their seats.

Lexa seats down to the left of Eudoxia, who takes the head of the table, and Clarke seats right beside her. They watch as everyone takes their seats - Lincoln in front of them, with Chyler insisting on sitting beside Octavia, Roan beside his daughter and Anya to Clarke’s right. They take a moment to fill the glasses with wine - and the special occasion required orange juice instead of milk for Chyler - before Eudoxia rises to her feet, saying a few words about Christmas and how blessed they are for having food and friends to share it with. 

It all lasts if a full minute before she demands that everyone dig in because she “didn’t slave in the kitchen to waste time talking”.

Clarke chuckles as she starts making her plate, asking Octavia for the mashed potatoes before she leans towards Lexa. “Babe,” the nickname almost makes Lexa throw peas everywhere - it’s startling to hear it said in such an intimate whisper, among so many people. “You can relax, you know? Me and your mom, it went fine.” Clarke sets a hand on her thigh to calm her, casually passing the potatoes as she draws circles on Lexa’s skin with her thumb, “She asked normal things - where I’m from, what do I work with, how we met,” she leans further in and crinkles her nose as she takes the peas from Lexa, whispering in a teasing tone, “She said you wouldn’t give her the juicy details and I’m pretty sure she’s damn right about that.”

Lexa stares at a pea rolling to the edge as Clarke spoons some of it onto her plate. Her mom isn’t wrong, she’d probably have dismissed it as none of her business in the most polite way, “Well, yeah. What did you say?”

She bites her lips as Clarke lifts her plate for Lincoln to put a thick slice of ham on top of her mashed potatoes. Lexa watches dumbfounded as Clarke picks up her plate as well for Lincoln to place a thin slice on the side - it feels domestic, it feels like something Octavia would do for Lincoln or Roan for Kelsey. It feels like they really have been a couple for almost a year.

Clarke reaches for the gravy boat and pours a generous portion on top of her ham, turning to ask Lexa with a gesture if she wants it too. Lexa nods and watches with a smile as Clarke leans in to pour it over her food as well, her hair skin so close to Lexa’s she can feel the warmth emanating from her.

“I made sure she knew we’re in love,” Clarke whispers low enough that only Lexa can hear, passing the gravy boat to Eudoxia before she meets green eyes. Lexa’s heart stumbles through the motion of pumping blood through her body and she focus instead on how close Clarke is - close enough to touch, close enough to kiss. “And that we’ve been in love from the moment you walked into my gallery. I’m pretty sure she knows I’ve loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you.” Lexa forgets what breathing means and tears sting the back of her eyes. Clarke’s words sound too sincere and it takes Lexa more effort than she cares to admit to stop herself from saying more than she’s allowed. “We make a pretty convincing fairytale, if you ask me.”

Clarke winks at Lexa as she gets passed the stuffing, busying herself with spooning it onto her plate and Lexa couldn’t be more glad for the moment to put herself together. She smiles at Clarke even if the blonde can’t see her - a silent thanks for coming up with such a nice story, for putting up with her mom’s questions, for making this evening much easier on her than it should’ve been. 

If her heart aches at how true everything Clarke says really is, she pretends not to notice it.

Lincoln hands Clarke the brussel sprouts and she makes a face, readily passing it down the table again before turning to Lexa. “By the way, would it be okay if I got her address in Canada? Or even your firm’s if,  _ well _ ,” the ‘if you don’t feel comfortable giving out your mom’s address to an escort’ is implied in her tone and the way her eyes grow wide for a moment. Lexa wants to say something, but she falls short, “I’d like to send her a painting. One of my own. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what I want it to be, but I think you’ll all be back in Canada when I’m done with it.”

Feeling the back of her eyes starting to sting again, Lexa quickly blinks away her tears, smiling at a nervous Clarke biting into her lower lip. Her voice gets caught in her throat as she squeaks out a hum of agreement, nodding. “God, you- you’re  _ everything _ ,” the words fall from her lips before she realizes they’ve formed at all. Lexa leans in, capturing Clarke’s lips into hers as a stubborn tear fall down her cheek.

The kiss lasts but a second. “Hands off your lady, Lexa! We’re eating,” Anya makes grossed out noises and Chyler laughs heartily. Clarke joins in, chuckling at being called out like this, and reaches out to wipe the tear away from Lexa’s skin. Lexa leans into the touch and is about to kiss her again when Anya shouts, “Can I please have the yam?”

Lexa settles for a kiss on her cheek, turning to the food in front of her. Her sheepish smile remains stuck in her lips as she gets herself some carrots and glazed onions, and for once, she doesn’t mind the teasing it’ll earn her. She looks around the table, noticing the comfortable and warm silence that always happens when everyone has their mouths full.

Bursts of conversation erupts here and there. Chyler is a constant chatter, talking about wanting to play with the snow after dinner and showing all her aunties how good she’s gotten with her ballet moves. Octavia entertains her, asking about what moves she likes to do the most, and Lexa can’t help but think she’ll be a great mom. It’s still hard to wrap her mind around the fact that they’ll have a baby in the table next Christmas. Her mind wanders - she pictures the baby snuggled in a little elf outfit, with hat and all, falling asleep in Clarke’s arms as she rocks it to sleep by the fireplace.

A moan beside her takes her out of her reverie - Clarke rolls her eyes as she bites into the cheddar biscuits Lincoln made. Lexa laughs at the sight and they quickly fall into an argument barely disguised as a conversation about how both Lincoln and Eudoxia can cook so well and Lexa can’t even boil water without ruining it. She tries to be offended at all the arguments the blonde come up with, but it’s hard to take her serious when she has mashed potatoes on her hair.

“Clarke, honey,” Eudoxia calls her and Lexa quickly drops the hand that she had reached out to fix Clarke’s hair, feeling almost as if she has been caught doing something she shouldn’t. But Clarke gracefully turns her attention to her mom, who seems only interested in getting to know the blonde. “Your family didn’t mind you spending the holidays without them? Or are you two spending Christmas day with your folks?

“Actually, we’re spending just the two of us,” Clarke drifts her gaze from Eudoxia to Lexa, her smile growing into one Lexa can swear is meant just for her, “It’s our first Christmas together so we thought we could create some traditions for ourselves, you know?”

“Oh, you’re not seeing them at all?” Eudoxia pops a carrot into her mouth, drawing Clarke’s eyes back to her. She sounds conversational, almost worried about it - deep down Lexa knows it’s merely a question, that her mother couldn’t possibly know the wound she’s poking at, but her common sense seems to fly out the window whenever Clarke is involved.

“ _ Mom _ .” Her voice is sharp and there’s a threat disguised as warning underlying the single word. Lexa drops her hand to Clarke’s thigh, calling her attention as she turns to the blonde, knitting her eyebrows in worry, “You don’t have to answer this.”

“No, it’s fine,” Clarke whispers and sets her hand on top of Lexa’s, nodding slightly before turning to Eudoxia, “My dad died when I was starting college and after that, my relationship with my mother kinda fell apart. I couldn’t pretend to be someone I was not and she could never understand that.” Her words are carefully measured - she isn’t lying, but it can be interpreted in a different way from the real one. It’s easy to jump to the conclusion her mother doesn’t accept her being gay. But Lexa heart warms at the sight of Clarke opening up to her family like that. “I spent most Christmas alone ever since. I’m just happy I have someone to spend it with this time.”

Lexa squeezes her thigh under the table, a silly smile on her lips as she presses them to Clarke’s temple. She doesn’t miss the way Clarke leans into her kiss, closing her eyes ever so briefly and breathing out heavily. It may be a white lie and spending Christmas Eve with them may be a burden, but Lexa’s heart lights up regardless.

Eudoxia reaches out, taking Clarke’s free hand into hers. “You’ll always have a place to spend Christmas now. And Thanksgiving. All the holidays. You’re  _ family _ now.” Lexa feels Clarke intertwining their fingers and holding her hand tighter. She watches for a moment all the emotions that play across Clarke’s face, her teeth coming to bite her lip that insists in spreading into a smile and stubborn tears filling her eyes despite her efforts to blink them away. Lexa squeezes her hand back, glancing at her mom and mouthing ‘thank you’. Eudoxia smiles back at them, before letting go of Clarke’s hand and feigning seriousness. “Now, let’s talk business. What do you think about having children? I’m not getting any younger.”

“ _ Jesus _ , Mom,” Lexa almost jumps out of her body. She hasn’t had the guts to bring the subject with Clarke yet, she certainly doesn’t want to discuss it in front of her entire family. She can hear Anya laughing at them, and before the blonde has the chance to butt in, Lexa blurts out, “Lincoln is the married one. Ask  _ him  _ and stop trying to scare my girlfriend away.”

It takes her half a second to remember they  _ are _ expecting a child already and she might have put them in an awkward situation to free herself of one.

But Lincoln smiles at her, as if she orchestrated the perfect setup, and gets up from his chair. “Actually, mom,” he seems almost worried, but the happiness shines through everything else he might be feeling. Octavia hugs him by the waist, leaning against his shoulder as he goes on, “Octavia and I have something to tell you.”

It’s pretty clear what the news is when they both touch her belly, a bump only noticeable if you know what you’re looking for. 

That’s enough to almost give their mom a heart attack. She gets up, hand to her chest as she takes the full two steps until her grandchild is within reach of her eager fingers, “Oh my  _ god, _ don’t play with me.”

Octavia launches into a full description of everything that is going on - from when they found out and how far along she is to how bad her morning sickness is and what names they’re considering. Lexa breathes deeply and relaxes, glad to no longer be the target of her mom incessant questioning. It’s only by the time her mom is demanding Octavia goes live with her for the first semester of the little bundle’s life that Lexa feels bad for laughing.

Clarke leans against her shoulder to watch how happy everyone is and Lexa adjusts her position, squeezing her hand slightly before letting go so she can wrap her arm around Clarke’s waist. It doesn’t take long before Clarke finds Lexa’s free hand and intertwine their fingers again, leaning in further against her to whisper  _ “that could be us one day” _ .

If she tears up, she pretends it’s out of happiness for Lincoln and Octavia.

Lexa tugs Clarke closer, adjusting her hold on her waist when she feels the blonde molding herself against her chest. Her gaze drops from Octavia, who is currently holding a visibly crying Eudoxia, to watch Clarke watching them - she’s  _ radiant _ . Lexa watches the wrinkles pooling around Clarke’s eyes as her smile grow bigger, the little hitch in her breath when Eudoxia says she’s pretty sure they’re going to have a boy, the laughter that ripples through her body when Octavia winks at her and says this time next year she’ll be the one with a baby bump. Lexa wants to believe it, so she does.

Kissing the top of Clarke’s head, Lexa grins like a mad woman when the blonde hums her approval, cuddling closer to Lexa and closing her eyes for a moment. She can’t help but think that Clarke looks like she belongs exactly where she is - in Lexa’s arms, playing with her fingers, smiling content.

Their little bubble is soon broken as Chyler starts asking for a little brother or sister - “ _ no, auntie Octavia’s baby doesn’t count, I want you or dadda to be pregnant, daddy.” _ \- and everyone turns to see Roan’s poor attempts at explaining how pregnancy works to his six year old. At the sight of Anya bursting out laughing with no sympathy for the guy, Clarke untangles herself from Lexa and turns to Chyler, talking to her in a high pitched voice about which one of her dads should be the one to get pregnant.

The pure, unadulterated  _ love _ that fills Lexa’s heart is more than anything she'd felt before - in that moment, it really feels like she could burst, like her chest isn’t big enough for it all.

Clarke asks Roan if she can talk to his kid about the birds and the bees - he seems more beyond relief, clearly not wanting to be the one to give the girl that talk - and swings Chyler until the girl hooks her legs around her waist and they both march towards the living room. Lexa doesn’t look away from the two until they disappear behind the wall separating the dining room, Chyler’s curious voice asking big questions such as “ _ where do babies come from? _ ” filtering to her.

Lexa folds her arms in front of her, unsure of what to do with her hands now that they aren’t holding Clarke.

She bites her lips at how vaguely familiar it all feels, like it happened a lifetime ago but somehow she can still remember some of it - missing someone she was holding two minutes ago, feeling her skin tingling at the memory of them, how heavy her stomach gets when she thinks about how  _ incredible  _ the other person is, the way her heart speeds up at the sound of their laughter. But along with the feeling of familiarity, come the scars.

Willing her heart to stop the incessant pounding against her ribs, Lexa tries and fails to compare what she feels for Clarke to what she feels -  _ felt _ \- for Costia. Her love for Costia was innocent and filled with utopian dreams that could never become true, even if she hasn’t died. In some ways, her love for Clarke seems the same - she pictured the blonde  _ pregnant _ a few moments ago and that’s hardly within the realm of reality. But it feels so much different. It’s not the same novelty romance that she had with Costia. It’s deep and passionate, it’s wild but comforting in a way she thought only existed in movies.

Her laugh bubbles in her chest and she fights it until only a smile show - if she’s comparing what she feels for Clarke to  _ movies _ , she’s doomed beyond repair. She’s digging her own grave and cherishing every sweet moment of it.

If she pushes her feelings aside, which is growing harder and harder to do, Lexa knows she’ll lose Clarke. Coming New Year’s, she and Clarke will have nothing bonding them together anymore, the blonde will leave and she’ll go back to Canada. She’ll go through hell trying to get over Clarke, but she knows what’s coming - she knows her heart will break and ache, but she’s willing to pay the price if it means she gets to hold Clarke for the next seven days.

But as she listens to Chyler’s giggles and Clarke’s soft voice filling the living room in a sing song tone, Lexa remembers Clarke’s question, whispered in the dark and cold winter sunset,  _ “is this real?” _

Maybe, just maybe, she can dream impossibilities and have it come true after all.

A hand on her shoulder takes her out of her reverie and she’s glad for it, snapping her head up to find her mother smiling at her, “Hi, mom.”

Eudoxia takes the chair beside her daughter, giving her a warm smile as she speaks, “Hi, darling.” Before her mom can say anything else, Lexa chuckles and glances towards the living room when a yelp filters to them, right before Clarke explodes into laughter. Eudoxia follows her gaze and glances back at her, noticing the grin on her face and giving her a knowing look, “You smile that wide when you  _ hear _ her laughter. Oh, honey, you are in trouble.”

Lexa lowers her head, trying to hide her smile that doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon, and uncrosses her arms, tangling her hands together on her lap. Yes, she is in trouble - much, much more trouble than her mom can even begin to understand. “I guess so.”

She knows her dismissive tone gives her away and the tips of her ears burn in anticipation for all the teasing that is sure to come. Instead, her mom simply tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, tracing her fingers down until she cups Lexa’s cheek. “You look happy,” her voice is soft, almost choked, and Lexa looks up at her again.

“I am,” her answer comes fast, as if she can’t let her mother think even for a second that she’s anything less than happy. It’s her knee-jerk reaction to the question, it’s been her go to every since she’s surfaced back from the pit Costia’s death had put her in. But she’s surprised to realize how much truth those words hold, “For the first time in a long while, I really am happy, mom.”

Eudoxia holds her face in between her palms, her tear filled eyes mapping every inch of Lexa’s as if she’s trying to commit to memory what her daughter looks like when she’s happy. Lexa can’t blame her mother, it’s been  _ years _ since she’s been truly happy, felt this carefree, fallen this deep in love. Lexa can count in one hand, with fingers to spare, the times she’s laughed near her mom in the last decade.

The moment lasts only long enough for Lexa to start getting teary eyed at the unmasked joy in her mom’s face. Anya pops their little bubble with a yell from the living room, calling them to join everyone else because they’re going to “have some drinks to annoy Octavia”.

It takes Lexa two seconds after she walks into the living room to find Clarke’s eyes - from her spot on the floor, near the forgotten puzzle, the blonde smiles at her, wrinkling her nose and making a silly face before turning back to Chyler and whispering something. Lexa sighs happily, her stomach fluttering with the soft gesture, and turns to join the conversation in the other side of the room.

Before she can pick up what they’re discussing, Lincoln kisses the top of Octavia’s head and untangles himself from her, assuring her he’ll be right back when she grunts her discontentment and walking towards Lexa.

“Ten bucks says Octavia throws up her dinner,” he says in a theatrical whisper and Lexa rolls her eyes. Finding Octavia a little separated from the other three chatting in the couch, Lexa has to agree she looks greener than before.

“Should you really be betting against your wife?” Lexa folds her arms on her chest, once again finding herself lost without Clarke in them, and raises her eyebrows at him in judgement. 

Lincoln shrugs, stuffing his hands into his back pockets and giving Lexa a nudge with his elbow. She rolls her eyes again - sometimes it feels like they’re two kids teasing each other and it finally feels normal again. Her eyes drift towards Clarke without her permission and her smile widens when Chyler climbs on Clarke’s lap. Lincoln nudges her again to call her attention, and it barely works, “She’s great, Lex.”

At that, she does turn back to her brother, the smile on her face never wavering. She bites her lips before nodding, her voice soft and so full of love, “She really is.” Lexa looks over her shoulder, finding Clarke helping Chyler get up, and she realizes she wants that - she wants Clarke and she wants a child and she wants an entire life with the blonde. “Clarke is something else.”

Lincoln squeezes her shoulder, “Then hold on to her.” His voice is soft, but when she looks at him, Lexa finds an urgency in his eyes she didn’t expect, “You don’t find many people who are  _ something else _ .” 

He looks at Octavia and something seems to click inside Lexa, “You held on to yours.” She states more than asks and Lincoln nods, a loving smile growing in his lips.

The soft  _ tap tap tap _ of bare tiny feet against the carpet calls her attention and Lexa turns just in time to see Chyler running to Roan, climbing on top of his lap before stating with all the pomp a six year old can muster, “Daddy, we should get a sorrow cat for it to give us a baby. It’s a thing. Clarke told me.”

Roan’s confused  _ “what” _ fills the room and it takes a moment for Lexa to realize she meant to say  _ surrogate _ \- what kind of talk did Clarke have with this girl? Eudoxia bursts out in a giggling fit and Anya pries Chyler to know more about this  _ sorrow cat _ and how would it bring her a baby, her face so serious Lexa almost believes she actually meant all that curiosity.

Lexa is so engrossed in Chyler’s excited babbling that she barely notices Clarke creeping in beside her until her hand settles in the small of her back. “Can I steal you for a moment?” her voice is low and Lexa almost melts when her breath hits her neck, her arm wrapping around Lexa’s waist more possessively. 

It takes all Lexa has got to simply nod.

They slip outside while everyone is paying attention to the wild story Chyler has come up with, walking in the dark with their bodies pressed closed together. Lexa wants to ask why they need to be outside for this - a spare room with a working heater would have worked just fine - but she doesn’t want to disturb this peace that settles within her, letting Clarke lead them.

Gritting her teeth to keep her jaw from shaking with how cold the night has gotten, Lexa half wants to ask for the blanket Clarke has gotten from the back of the couch and is currently draped over the arm not holding Lexa’s waist. Instead, she crosses her arms and leans in a bit more into Clarke’s embrace, her warmth being a comfort.

They walk past the patio they had argued on before and the spot where they kissed, onto the snow covered grass that crackles under their feet. Clarke tightens her hold on Lexa as they approach the trees in the backyard that form a little grove - Lexa should’ve known her mom would like a place like that to stay the holidays.

Lexa wants to ask how Clarke could possibly know there were trees with a clear pathway for them to walk through, but it feels wrong to verbalize anything. She strains her eyes to see through the woods, night pollution coming from the city behind them being their only source of light as they emerge in a clearing.

“How- how did you know about this?” The words fall from Lexa’s lips before she can think them through - or if she really wants an answer at all - as she takes in the lake, hidden away behind a handful of tightly planted trees. Seeing a lake in the middle of New York is something that takes her breath away and Lexa takes a step forward, taking in the frozen surface of it, the way the grass grows wild around it, looking as untouched by the man as it could.

Feeling Clarke hugging her from behind, the blanket thrown over her shoulders in a way that covers them both, Lexa leans back, grateful for the warmth that surrounds her and content to be there forever - wrapped in Clarke’s arms, under a heavy sky, in the middle of a grove.

Clarke’s voice is small and almost hard when she answers against Lexa’s shoulder, “I’ve been here before, with a cli- with someone else.”  _ Oh. _ Lexa swallows thickly, but lets Clarke snuggle further into her, pulling the blanket tighter around them both. The brutality of the twist in her stomach surprises her more than the fact that Clarke knows this at all, but she focus on enjoying the silence and the feel of Clarke against her back. It’s a long moment before Clarke speaks again, her voice softer this time, “They love you, Lex. They’ll love whoever you bring home, as long as she makes you happy.” She kisses Lexa’s neck, just under her ear, whispering the next words as if talking at a normal voice would upset the balance of that heavenly place, “They just want to see you happy.”

“I don’t know how to do that anymore,” the deep sorrow in her voice takes her aback - she hadn’t meant to sound so desolate and she sags against Clarke, almost defeated.

Clarke adjusts her hold on her, finding a way to wrap her arms around her waist while still keeping the blanket on both of them. “You’ll learn. You’ll find someone who makes it easy to be happy, who makes you wonder how you could ever feel differently.” Something inside Lexa twists and turns in discomfort at having to realize the one thing she’s been fighting to forget, but Clarke presses on, “You just need to open yourself a little bit, be willing to recognize her when she comes along.”  _ What if I already found her? What if she’s you? _ The truth Lexa has been hiding from hits her with so much force that tears fill her eyes, blurring her vision as she tries to blink them away. “You  _ deserve _ that happiness. You deserve the world.” Clarke’s voice is soft against her skin and Lexa believes her, “And I’m telling you. As long as you’re happy, they’ll love her.“

Closing her eyes and letting her tears roll down her cheeks, Lexa runs her hands down Clarke’s forearms until she can link her fingers, as loosely as their position allows her. She takes a deep, ragged breath in, “What if-” her voice comes out choked, the emotion written in it in bright neon lights, but Lexa forces herself to push the words out - all at once, before she loses her courage, “What if I already found her? What if I found the girl I love and I can’t wait to get married to her and have a family together, grow old side by side and build something worth remembering? What if I found the one that makes me want to do something bigger with my life than just working, that makes me find happiness in the simplest things in life?”

Her breath comes out in a trembly puff, her lower lip shaking with how much strength it’s taking her to not break apart and beg Clarke to love her back.

Clarke doesn’t answer her for a long while and the lull in the conversation makes all kinds of regret surface in Lexa’s heart. But Clarke seems to sense how nervous she is, must feel her heart hammering against her ribcage, and kisses a path down her neck until her breathing returns to something akin to normal. 

“Tell her,” Clarke’s voice is muffled against her skin, it’s so small she can barely hear it, “Lexa, if someone makes you feel like this, you need to take a shot at it and let her know.” Clarke squeezes Lexa’s fingers once and loosens her grip around her only enough for her to notice the change. “Stop wasting your time with me and go get your girl.”

Lexa can’t tell if Clarke’s voice really is as broken as it falls to her ears or if it’s just her wishful thinking.

Letting go completely of Clarke’s fingers and pushing all the fear that bubbles in her chest aside, Lexa turns in her arms, meeting blue eyes that look almost grey in the pale light that filters in. She’s half aware of the path her tears left on her cheek, but she can’t find it in her to care as Clarke splays her hands across the middle of her back, pressing ever so slightly until Lexa takes a step forward. The blanket hangs on Clarke’s shoulders by pure miracle and Lexa lets her fingers trail up to the nape of her neck, intertwining in thin blonde hair.

Her eyes drop to Clarke’s mouth before falling closed, letting her senses guide her. Lexa smiles softly when their noses bump, hovers her mouth over Clarke’s without giving in, drawing back when the blonde leans in - she’s taking her time, she wants this to tell something.

Their lips touch so softly it’s barely a kiss at all, but it makes them both sigh into it. Lexa lets go of her hair and traces her fingertips against Clarke’s neck until she’s cupping both her cheeks, pressing their lips in a proper kiss. Clarke catches Lexa’s bottom lip in between hers at the same time her hands come to rest on Lexa’s elbows, holding onto it for balance as Lexa presses back.

They don’t deepen the kiss, it’s merely lips moving against lips but it feels more intimate than anything they’ve had together so far.

Lexa breaks the kiss when it becomes too much - if she needs to keep what she feels  _ inside _ , she needs to  _ stop _ . They breathe each other in for a moment, noses resting on cheeks as they wait for the post kissing haze to lift.

“What was that for?” Clarke whispers, a cloud forming in the air in between them. Lexa leans back, giving herself space to breathe in the cold air in an attempt to clear her mind and opening her eyes to find Clarke with hers still closed, her lips still puckered in a pout that Lexa wants to kiss away.

“Because I”, Lexa stops mid sentence, lets the words roll on her tongue, forming the shape of each syllable. She tastes the sweetness of it, the bitter tones, the impossibleness of it ever being reciprocated, and bites them back. “Because you’re  _ you _ ”.

When Clarke finally opens her eyes, Lexa can’t read the look they give her.

As if they were an old couple that can communicate without any words, they silently agree to go back inside. Clarke drapes the blanket over both their shoulders and wrap her arm around Lexa again, keeping her close as they walk back the same battered path, the frozen grass cracking under their shoes being the only sound filling the air.

The warmth that greets them as they walk back inside is welcome, but it does make Lexa long for her huge hotel bed with more pillows than she knows what to do with - she tries not to think about how much she wants to climb into Clarke’s bed right now, how much she wants to fall asleep among art.

As soon as they step into the living room, Anya nudges Chyler to sing ‘just like they practiced’ and the little girl starts singing off key, grinning so wildly she can barely form the words, “Lexa and Clarke sitting in the tree!” Anya tickles her until Chyler is off her lap, mixing her letters as she sings and runs away at the same time, “K-i-n-g-s-s-s-i-n-g!”

Lexa gives into the teasing and chases after her, pretending to be mad, “You cheeky girl, come back here!”. It doesn’t take long for her to catch Chyler, tackling her to the ground and tickling her so much the girl gets the hiccups, but doesn’t stop laughing.

Roan comes over to pick up his daughter and give her some water, and Lexa is almost worried if she went to far, but Chyler waves at her from over her dad’s shoulder, still laughing through the hiccups. Lexa walks back to where Anya and Clarke are standing and watching it all unfold - she notices Clarke giggling, her cheeks blushed, and Lexa’s heart melts again.

“You two look like you want one of those,” Anya narrows her eyes at both of them, crossing her arms in a way that she thinks makes her look threatening - Lexa knows very well that pose, she’s seen her use it in the courtroom often enough to recognize it anywhere.

Lexa places herself behind Clarke, wrapping her arms around her waist and leaning her chin against her shoulder. She relaxes when Clarke sinks into her and puts her hands on top of hers, and Lexa raises her eyebrows at Anya, “One of what?”

Anya leans in towards them, whispering in the most theatrical way she can muster, “A  _ baby _ .”

Rolling her eyes, Lexa is ready to retort and dismiss the idea completely, but Clarke tightens her hold on her hands and smiles, “Maybe one day.” Lexa looks at her questioningly and Clarke doesn’t give her any answers, only snuggles further into her embrace.

If that’s how they’re faking it, she could do it forever.

Their silent talking is met with gagging sounds from Anya, “You two are very gross.” She makes a disgusted face and waves her hands for them to part. All Lexa can force herself to do is move to stand beside Clarke, but keeping her hands around her waist still - which seems to be good enough for Anya, as she continues, “And my girlfriend is  _ finally _ getting here tomorrow. We need to get together so our ladies can meet and I can rub in your face how we can be gross too.”

“I think we can do lunch the day after Christmas?” Lexa turns to Clarke, frowning as she asks with a glance if it works for her - they had agreed on taking two “days off” and only meeting again for the dinner with the new associates on the 27th.

Clarke nods and Anya claps her hands, “Great, I’m putting it on your phone so you don’t ditch me to cuddle all day.” She reaches for Lexa’s clutch on the corner of the couch, looking for her phone in the cluttered space, “Is your password still the same?”

“Yeah,” Lexa says without thinking, paying too much attention to the way Clarke’s thumb draws lazy circles around her wrist bone to notice the smirk on Anya’s face when she finally fishes her phone from the clutch. Lexa leans in and presses a kiss on Clarke’s temple, her voice almost muffled as she teases Anya, “Do you want to bet who’s more in love? Because you’re going to lose.”

Anya pays no attention to her mocking, bringing Lexa’s phone closer to her face so she can double check what she sees on the screen, “Do you really have a couple selfie as your lockscreen?” Anya bursts out laughing as she punches in the password, “ _ You _ , Alexandra Woods, have a couple selfie as you- god, can you two be any more gross?”

Heat creeps up Lexa’s neck and she bites her lip, trying to think of something to say - she doesn’t quite understand her need to defend herself, the whole point of making that selfie her lockscreen was to sell the part better. But Clarke seems unaffected as she reaches laughs it off and reaches for her own clutch, pulling out her phone and lighting up the screen before turning it to Anya, “Yeah, our lockscreens match.”

They bid their goodbyes as soon as Roan takes a sleepy Chyler up the stairs, still hiccuping every other step. It’s different from the goodbyes Lexa has grown used to - instead of “you look lonely, honey” from her mother, she gets “you two have a merry first Christmas together,” instead of “stop working during holidays” from Lincoln, she gets a tight hug and him asking Clarke, in the most serious voice she’s heard all evening, to take good care of his little sister.

Lexa scoffs at the tough big brother act Lincoln has put up, but Clarke takes him seriously, “I will, I swear.”

It feels awfully familiar, driving to the hotel with Clarke’s hand on her thigh, her own hand on top of hers, linking their fingers lazily together as she reclines on the passenger seat. Her eyes close on their own accord every once in awhile, and she leans in to kiss Clarke at almost every red light. It feels  _ familiar _ in a way that should be, but is nonetheless.

They don’t talk much during the ride - they don’t have to, the silence is comfortable and welcome, the muffled roaring from the engine winding them both down from the night they had. They set up a time for Clarke to pick Lexa up on the 26th and talk about how lovely Chyler is, her presence there a sweet surprise for both of them, but besides that, they simply enjoy being together in silence.

Clarke parks right in front of the hotel door, Christmas Eve having apparently drawn everyone out, and she climbs out of her car to walk Lexa to the door. It’s an excuse Lexa accepts without a second thought, even if the hotel door is barely three steps away from the curb.

Shoving one hand on her coat pocket and gripping her clutch with the other so tight her knuckles turn white, Lexa waits for Clarke to say something - say goodbye, ask if she can stay,  _ anything _ . This silence is different from the one in the car, is heavy and full of expectations, and Lexa feels her heart beating in her throat, having to remind herself that it can’t  _ literally _ jump out of her body.

“Don’t work yourself too hard,” Clarke finally says, her voice as soft as the look she gives Lexa, who can only find enough strength in herself to nod, once. It doesn’t seem to convince Clarke, who raises an eyebrow as she pushes, “Promise?”

“I won’t,” Lexa answers in a high pitched voice, smiling at Clarke’s serious nod of approval, “I’ll probably end up eating chinese and trying to read that awful book you seem to like.”

Scoffing in pure indignation, Clarke looks almost personally offended at Lexa’s remark. “It’s a  _ classic _ , come on. Russian literature is super fun.”

Lexa allows her smile to grow until her eyes are almost closed, shaking her head as a thought invades her mind without her consent - “ _ my girlfriend is a huge nerd _ ”. Half of her wants to keep talking, to invite Clarke inside where they can actually discuss their wildly different taste in literature, or just keep her there for a little longer, hold on to this moment just a bit more. But she sees the blonde starting to shiver in the cold winter night, her coat forgotten inside her car. She swallows thickly before she asks, her voice almost overwhelmed by how loud the wind is in the street, “Can I get a hug goodbye?”

Without saying anything, Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s shoulders, pressing her entire body against her. It takes Lexa a moment to react, to take her hand out of her pocket and hug her back - but then, it’s all she can do. She grips at the thin fabric of Clarke’s blouse, burying her face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. “Merry Christmas, Lex,” Clarke whispers against her shoulder, giving her a kiss on the cheek before breaking the hub and hurrying back to the street.

“Merry Christmas,” her words go unheard as Clarke climbs back into her car, leaving Lexa standing alone on the sidewalk, her conflicted heart pounding painfully against her ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys follow me on Tumblr or Twitter, you already what’s happening. For those of you who don’t, well, I’m trying to get into med school and I _flunked_ my entrance exam - I mean getting placed in 7,736th when there were only 80 spots in the school I wanted. I’m retaking it at the end of the year, but I’m living and breathing textbooks and mock tests until then. 
> 
> I do write a little bit every day, I get a free half hour during my lunch break and that’s when I pour myself into writing - but half hour is not much. So, the next chapters will come - slowly, but surely. I’m also behind on answering your comments, but I read them all and I will get to them and I love reading them so much. I’ve squealed and lowkey vibrated with pure excitement more times than I’m willing to admit, you guys are literally the best. Thank you so much for being so patient with me, I hope this story makes it worth it.


	7. december, 25th

**_DECEMBER 25TH_ **

Tossing her reading glasses on top of the papers she’s been reading nearly non-stop for the past four hours, Lexa lets out a tired sigh. Her entire body sags and she leaves it be for a moment - there’s only so much her brain can take in before everything else starts to shut down slowly until she gives in and takes a nap.

Refusing to take a nap  _ now _ , she stretches instead. Sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with her feet folded under her thighs, Lexa reaches up towards the ceiling, wiggling her arms from one side to the other and way up above her head until she hears her back cracking in all the places she needs it to. She rolls her head from one side to the other, releasing the tension built up in the base of her neck in all the hours she’s been hunched over. 

Lexa stares at the mess surrounding her, her eyes going out of focus for a moment longer than she wants it to, and ponders if it is time for a break after all. She’s been more productive in the morning alone than she had been all week, even if the main reason for her to delve into her work so fiercely was to avoid thinking about Clarke and scrutinizing everything that happened in the last couple of days until every little detail had been thought of and studied in a feeble attempt to figure out where she and Clarke stand without having to actually ask the other woman about it.

Instead, she woke up at 8am - a really late start of her day, given she usually wakes up well before her 6am alarm -, ordered breakfast and dove into her work. By 3pm, she had finished drafting the new clients’ contract, sent it over to her firm for review, caught up on her ever growing pile of unanswered emails and read over two of the cases she’s defending in January, planning out her defense in neatly organized and color coded notes.

She slumps against the couch, grunting gracelessly as her back finally finds some support, even if precarious, and tries to rub fatigue away from her eyes. It doesn’t help. If anything, if makes her even  _ more _ tired. Lexa scoots further down the carpet, almost knocking the coffee table aside when her knees bump into it, until her head hits the seat cushion. Maybe she should take a long bath and eat something that isn’t in the hotel’s holiday menu, maybe she could take a nap and watch some Christmas movies she’s bound to find in any channel today. The faint daylight coming through the open curtains seems suddenly unbearable and she closes her eyes against it, letting her body sag against the couch as she breathes out.

Lexa can  _ swear _ it takes all of half a second for a certain blonde to invade her thoughts.

Soft laughter fills her mind before she can picture Clarke’s smile close to her as they lean against each other like it’s a habit they’ve nurtured for years. Lexa is in love with Clarke - she’s past denying that to herself, she’s past being silent about it too. 

Their talk near the lake comes to the front of her mind and, if she focus hard enough, she can almost feel Clarke’s arms around her, her chin resting softly on her shoulder as they looked out into the darkness lit only by city lights that seemed too far away. In the lake, time frozen as the water on its surface, Lexa had spilled out her feelings in a way that seemed too obvious for anyone that heard it - and despite the answer she got, despite the clear dismissal in the words that floated to her in a whisper, Lexa  _ knows _ Clarke feels something for her. Even if it’s not love, it’s something  _ more _ than what they should feel for each other.

Details like that makes her head swim. 

For the first time in days, Lexa has time to sit down with herself and check up on her feelings, try to name every ache that she hasn’t felt in years, learn how differently her heart beats now that it’s overflowing with a love she thought she could never feel again. Yet, it feels like she already knows everything that is to know and all she wants to do is have Clarke close again.

Lexa lets out a frustrated sigh, running her fingers through her hair to let it out of the knot she had secured it in and throwing it over one shoulder, and brings herself back to a seated position. Thinking about Clarke will get her nowhere. She’s filled to the brim with  _ what ifs _ that she can’t answer without sitting down with Clarke and talking openly about what they represent to each other, what they feel and where they’ll go from here - the mere  _ thought _ of what scares her breathless because  _ what if. _ Would it be better to pretend for another week without taking that leap of faith and maybe finding out Clarke doesn’t feel the same way? Would it be better to rip her chest open and let Clarke do with her heart whatever pleases her?

Shaking her head as if to  _ physically _ kick the blonde away from her brain, Lexa picks up her highlighter and red pen, spinning them both in between her fingers as she reads through the last passage she has notes on, trying to pick up her train of thought.

A soft knock on her door makes her jump slightly and purse her lips in annoyance - after rereading the same two lines about  _ eleven times _ , she was finally finding her focus and now it’s all out the window again. She gets up to get it, skipping over papers littering the floor, and pads barefoot towards the door. As she reaches to open the door, she almost considers not doing it at all - Lexa has spent enough holidays holed up in a hotel room to know most of them has some awful Christmas greeting tradition that she’d gladly stay out of.

When she opens the door - a mere crack at first, ready to shut it closed again as soon as she catches sight of a fruit basket -, a beaming smile steals any other thoughts she might have, her heart painfully skipping a beat without her consent.

“Clarke,” her name falls from Lexa’s lips as she greets the blonde who’s been haunting her waking hours and pestering her dreams, each letter tasting sweet and familiar, her tongue curling around her name like it’s a prayer. Lexa takes the blonde in, letting her eyes travel her face like they haven’t seen each other in  _ ages _ , and her smile only grows bigger as she steps aside and opens the door wider, “Come on in.”

Clarke is a far cry from the pristine picture she painted herself to be every time they met, and it only makes Lexa’s heartbeat that much faster. Her blonde hair is wild, her curls messy as if she had left them to dry in the freezing wind outside, and the beanie she has on and pulled way down to cover her ears all but confirm that. Her face is bare, any trace of makeup gone, and Lexa notices little things she was never able to before - her freckles are many more than she’d counted before and she has dark circles under her eyes, like she hasn’t really slept very well that night.

Biting her lip as she closes the door, Lexa forces herself to dim her smile - even if finding Clarke at her door step, all flushed cheeks and bright blue eyes, makes her forget every bad Christmas she’s ever had. Clarke seems almost too serious, her steps a little too careful as she walks in, and Lexa doesn’t want to scare her away before she even has the chance to enjoy having the blonde over.

Her teeth are still on her bottom lip, pulling it in as she keeps her smile to a polite one, and folds her hands in front of her, fingers wriggling together only for her to have something to do as she waits for Clarke to do or say something. Lexa forces herself not to overthink Clarke’s visit -  _ did she come here to break our arrangement up? did I cross some line? _ -, instead watching the half moon shapes her fingernails leave on her palm as she sinks them into it.

After what feels like hours, but it’s really nothing more than a few moments, Clarke turns to Lexa, closing the distance between them until she can really count her freckles. “Merry Christmas,” her voice cracks, the words fighting their way out in a ghost of a whisper as Clarke leans forward to place a gentle kiss on her cheek, offering Lexa a sheepishly smile before stepping away once more.

“Merry Christmas,” Lexa answers, her smile falling from her face altogether when she meets Clarke’s eyes for the briefest of moments before the blonde looks away. The expression on her face makes Lexa’s stomach drop a few inches, anguish pressing heavily on her chest - Clarke looks tense, concerned with something that’s been haunting her for more than just the last minutes, and there’s something else to her face; that same  _ something _ that Lexa has seen in her eyes before and has never been able to put a meaning to it. “Is everything okay?”

Clarke gives her a fierce nod, but the way she sucks her bottom lip in and worries it between her teeth tells Lexa something else. Clarke walks to the living area of the penthouse and puts a black paper bag Lexa hasn’t noticed before on the couch, starting to take off her gloves. Lexa wraps her arms around her middle, confused as to why Clarke is there, why she’s acting so weird, why does it suddenly feel so hard to breathe, and takes long strides until she’s on the opposite side of the room. 

To say Clarke is avoiding meeting her eyes is an understatement and it feels almost  _ suffocating _ . But she doesn’t push Clarke for an answer, even if she’s aching to know what brought her to there when they had nothing planned for the day.

Instead, Lexa waits for Clarke to be ready to speak - it would be rude to blurt out “what are you doing here?” - and watches as she gets rid of all her outwear in a painstakingly slow fashion. To take off her gloves, she tugs at each fingertip, loosening it until she could ease it off her hand by sticking a thumb in between the fabric and her palm, then putting it inside her coat pocket. She does the same with the other glove, and then takes off her beanie, sticking it in the other pocket - all meticulously and very, very slowly. By the time Clarke is done unwrapping her scarf from her neck, her insides are quivering so badly she’s just about ready to jump out of her skin.

When Clarke takes her eyes from where it was burning a hole on the floor and blue meets green, Lexa can’t find it in her to breathe. Even with an entire room in between them, Lexa loses herself in Clarke’s gaze, trying to find something in them to reassure her that she’s not alone in this - she’s always trying, lately. Clarke looks at her with an intensity that Lexa can’t handle without nearly breaking and her heart leaps, her stomach sinks, her lungs stop working altogether. For a mere moment, Lexa finds what she’s been looking for, but it’s so fleeting she could’ve imagined it. 

She’s almost glad when Clarke breaks their eye contact so she can shed her coat and drop it over the back of the couch - only then Lexa can force herself to breathe again. Clarke turns away from her, fidgeting with her coat for a moment and picking up the black paper bag, and that’s when Lexa notices how  _ odd _ her entire outfit is. The beanie had already been an unusual touch, but then she takes in the battered sweater, something that was once navy blue but faded to an almost grey after years of use, paired with loose grey sweatpants and ugg boots - the combination them gives out a warm feeling, like Clarke was having a lazy winter day and decided to go out without bothering to change.

“I brought you something,” Clarke’s voice snaps her out of her reverie - it sounds unsure, almost hesitant, like it’s been ever since she walked through the door. It sounds like Clarke has been questioning her decisions and her words, but Lexa doesn’t mention it. She wouldn’t know what to say about what exactly is different with Clarke today. Lexa swallows past the lump in her throat as Clarke makes her way across the room, painfully slowly once again, her eyes glued to the paper bag on her hands, and stops a couple of feet away from Lexa. “I’ve had this for  _ ages _ . But you really need this more than I do.”

A smirk flourishes and illuminates Clarke’s face as she takes another step closer and hands Lexa the bag, meeting her eyes once more. Lexa enjoys the feeling of having Clarke’s eyes on hers for a moment longer, counting the golden freckles lost in a blue sea, before reaching for the bag. She peeks inside, half expecting it to be something dirty, a practical joke of some kind. But when the catches sight of what’s in the bag, her breath hitches in her throat and her smile widens.

“A cookbook!” Lexa yelps and laughter bubbles in her chest as she picks it up from the bag, feeling its weight. It’s a weathered hardcover, something that looks like it’s been too close to the stove a few too many times and got its fair share of ingredients spilled on its pages. Lexa can tell it’s been put to good use before and she feeling that clings to her chest is new and oddly comforting - Clarke showed up at her hotel room, on Christmas day, wearing cozy clothes, to give her a book that  _ belonged to her _ for so long.

Clarke leans forward to see what page Lexa lands on when she opens the book - marinated lamb chops. “My favorite recipes are in the dog eared pages. And there are some ones I got along the years written in the back too,” Clarke is still smiling, her voice lighter somehow, and Lexa’s eyes flick to hers and to her smile for a moment before focusing on the book again. She flips through it, finding Clarke’s handwriting every now and then, adding comments to the recipes. “It’s a pretty basic book, with simple recipes and good instructions. It’s great for beginners who burn rice,” her smile tilts up in a smirk, the teasing bringing a new brightness to her eyes that fades when her line of thought drifts, “It’s the first book I got after- after I moved out from home. It’s what kept me from eating garbage and going malnourished.”

Lexa’s smile never really leaves her face, as much as she tries to keep it down to something polite and appropriated - this book isn’t simple some store bought gift Clarke got to make fun of her bad cooking. It means more than just old recipes passed along. This cooking book, with its slightly yellowed out pages slowly detaching from its spine, it’s a piece of Clarke’s past shared willingly, given for Lexa to hold on to. Lexa closes the book, her fingertips grazing the glossy paper in something akin to reverence, and for the first time in her  _ life _ she’s looking forward to the mishaps that are bound to come, wants to get past the learning curve until she’s as good in the kitchen as a fifties housewife.

Looking up from the turkey drawn in the cover, Lexa finds Clarke staring intently at her, knotting her fingers together the same way Lexa used to do as a kid, whenever she was nervous - the coincidence lights something up inside of her, and she realizes it doesn’t take much for her to smile when it comes to the blonde. Lexa’s smile widens, “I  _ love _ it, thank you. It’s…” her voice drifts for a moment, her eyes softening as she tries to find the right words, “It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten, Clarke. I promise I’ll put it to good use.” She turns the book on her hands, glancing at the back cover - it has whatever praises the book gotten with little food drawings all over it - before setting it down on the armchair behind her and turning her eyes to Clarke again, “I have something for you as well, actually.”

“You do?” Clarke sounds genuinely bewildered at the mere thought and Lexa hides her grin walking towards the breakfast table she managed to turn into a makeshift office desk. It seems  _ impossible _ that Clarke doesn’t realize her feelings, not when she’s so obvious about everything, but at the end of the day, the blonde seems more surprised to be loved than unaware of it.

Lexa gently picks up the small box and makes her way back to Clarke, her fingers grazing on the dark maroon satin bow that stands out against the soft grey of the box, keeping it all together. Everything that had happened at Clarke’s apartment - seeing Clarke’s paintings, falling asleep among art, waking up to art itself shown on the blonde’s sleepy face - had made Lexa buy it on a whim. She knows fully well there are a couple of retail workers out there wishing she chokes on her sleep for all but forcing them to remain open way later than usual until she got the right things, but only  _ imagining _ Clarke’s reaction made it all worth it.

Their hands brush when she gives Clarke the gift and Lexa has to will her heart to calm down - the little devil is stubborn and keeps hammering against her ribcage, as if it’s taken matters on its own hands and is trying to scream how Lexa feels about Clarke. It’s ridiculous that it only takes a touch, something as simple as their hands brush, for Lexa to be left starving.

Focusing on the way Clarke peels the ribbon from the box and places the lid carefully under the box, Lexa holds her breath as she watches Clarke peeking to see what’s inside. There’s a small sketchbook inside the box, only big enough so Clarke won’t have to squint when drawing, only enough for it to fit comfortably on her hand as she draws. Along with it, there’s a watercolor palette with only eighteen colors on it and a brush pen so that she could color without having to bring water with her.

When Clarke’s face lit up, so does hers.

She breathes out when her chest burns and Clarke grows softer, her expression turning into something Lexa can’t quite read. Her mouth grows dry and she licks her lips, trying to shake the anticipation from her as she takes a step forward. “You said your sketchbooks were too black and white. I thought you’d like something to color with when you’re on the go,” her voice is raspy and low, as if not only her mouth had gone dry, but her entire throat as well. Lexa lets her eyes wander, mapping Clarke’s face and committing to memory the way her mouth hangs slightly open, the number of freckles that pepper her nose and cheeks, how her eyes grow bluer with unshed tears as her fingertips trace the plastic covered items, “The watercolors are from the Van Gogh brand. The lady at the story assured me it’s a good one, but if it isn’t, we can-”

Her babbling is cut short by Clarke’s lips enveloping hers in a soft kiss. It takes Lexa a moment to realize what’s happening and return the kiss. She wasn’t expecting a kiss - a  _ thank you _ , maybe, but not a kiss. It’s a delicate kiss, merely lips brushing against lips and breath hitting cheeks in sighs, but Lexa feels like all of her nerve endings are suddenly alight. She wants to deepen the kiss, to taste more of Clarke - the almost whole day without her really took its toll - but Clarke breaks the kiss before Lexa can even settle her hand on her waist. Clarke rests her forehead against Lexa’s for a moment before drawing back, eyes cast on the gift in her hands.

“No one has ever given me art supplies before,” her voice breaks as she blinks away the tears that pooled in her eyes and Clarke traces the corners of the watercolor case for a moment, almost as if checking to see it’s real, that it won’t disappear the moment she looks away. “I mean, when I was a kid, sure. But ever since I… No one has ever believed in me enough to- no one’s ever supported me like this, I-  _ thank you _ , Lex.” 

Lexa nods once, more to acknowledge Clarke’s words than anything. She doesn’t know what to answer to that - she couldn’t imagine something as simple as this could evoke such a visceral reaction, uncover painful memories that she wishes Clarke didn’t have in the first place. Her first instinct is to wrap Clarke in her arms and ask the names of every single person who’s told her she wouldn’t make it as an artist so she could hire someone to punch them. The aggressivity of her own thoughts takes her by surprise and she bites back her smile - she’s so  _ in love _ it’s nearing ridiculousness by now.

Clarke smiles at her and looks back down at the gift, carefully placing the lid back on top of the box and taking a step back to set it on the coffee table. Fear that Clarke may be getting ready to go back home floods Lexa and she blurts out the words before she can think them through. “Do you want some wine?” Her voice is too high pitched for her to have any hope of playing it cool and she doesn’t even  _ have _ wine, but she doesn’t want Clarke to leave. She doesn’t want to spend Christmas alone.

Shaking her head in negative, Clarke takes a step forward and searches Lexa’s eyes for something. Lexa holds her breath - she’s being studied, she can tell it clearly by the way Clarke’s eyes jolt from her mouth to her jaw to her eyes to her hair and back to her mouth. Her artist’s eyes map Lexa’s features, as if Clarke is committing her to memory, and Lexa wonder if she’s ever going to get used to how intense Clarke’s gaze can become.

Taking yet another step forward and closing almost all space in between them, Clarke reaches up to cup Lexa’s cheek, her fingertips finding the fine hairs on her neck. “I just- I just want  _ you _ ,” her voice breaks again as she smiles and Lexa can  _ swear _ her heart stops beating for a moment - she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing, can’t wrap her mind around the words Clarke is saying, can’t put meaning into them because  _ clearly _ she’s imagining it all. Clarke darts her eyes around Lexa’s face, searching for something her silence won’t tell. Her voice shakes as she asks for a confirmation, “Is that okay?”

It takes Lexa a moment to find her voice. She sets her palm against Clarke’s stomach and bunches her sweater in her fist, pulling at it to bring the blonde even closer, until their noses are nearly touching. “It is. Of course it is,” her voice is barely a choked up whisper, but Clarke is  _ so close _ she can hear it just fine.

Lexa feels Clarke smiling against her lips when they press them together, this kiss starting out just as softly as their last. Clarke presses her hand against Lexa’s ribs and they both sigh into the kiss - Lexa can’t tell why the blonde likes that spot so much, but she’s grown fond of the pressure against her ribcage that gives her heart something solid to hammer against. Clarke takes her bottom lip in between hers, sicking lightly on it, and Lexa places her other hand on the blonde’s forearm - she needs something to hold on to, afraid her knees will stop working and she’ll buckle to the floor with how gentle their kiss is. 

Lexa wants to repeat Clarke’s question back to her,  _ is this real? are we real? _ , but she has all the answers she needs already. The way Clarke sights into her mouth as Lexa deepens the kiss, how tight she grips Lexa’s hair when she kisses back. It feels real. It is real. It has always been.

They break apart before the kiss can become anything  _ more _ , but even a tame kiss leaves Lexa with shaky legs and a pounding heart. Clarke takes a step back and reaches her hand out for Lexa to take - her palm up, awaiting and Lexa almost melts at the sight. Biting her lip to keep her stubborn smile at bay, Lexa places her hand on Clarke’s, intertwining their fingers as Clarke leads them towards the bed.

It’s only a few steps away from the living area, but it feels like they’re crossing an entire block. There’s something different to the way Clarke moves, how her fingers tighten around Lexa’s, the light on her eyes as she glances over her shoulder - it’s not  _ hesitation _ per se, but it’s something that Lexa can’t quite put her finger on, can’t name what makes it so odd, something that makes her stomach twist on itself in anticipation to find out more.

The side of her knee hits the bed before she realizes they’re already in the bedroom - she’s too busy overthinking it all and gawking at their joined hands to pay attention to her surroundings - and she turns to Clarke. The blonde lets go of Lexa’s hand and links both of hers, wriggling her fingers together as she casts her eyes on the bed, suddenly very interested about the bedsheets and how the little wrinkles make a line from the bottom to the top. Lexa tilts her head - she can give Clarke time to think it over, if time is what she needs.

Lexa frowns when she sees Clarke’s bottom lip trembling for a moment before the blonde takes it in between her teeth, biting on it so hard Lexa is afraid she’ll draw blood. “Hey,” Lexa calls out in the a quiet voice, tapping her fingers to her elbow lightly enough to get her attention without scaring her, “Is everything okay? Are you-” Lexa takes a step closer and instantly regrets it when Clarke looks up at her with her big blue eyes wide open, “Are you sure you want to do this? Because we don’t have to-”

Clarke shuts her up with a kiss. It’s quick and chaste, but it does its job, and Lexa stays quiet when Clarke draws back a few inches. “I’m good. I  _ want _ this, it’s just-” her voice cracks as she whispers. Clarke clears her throat as she takes a full step back, putting some distance back in between them, and hastily shoves a strand of hair behind her ear, running her hand through her hair, “It feels different.  _ This _ \- us- today- it feels… It feels like it might be more,” her voice breaks as she glues her eyes back to the bed sheets, working her jaw from one side to the other. When she finishes her thought, her voice is nothing more than the ghost of a whisper, “more than I can handle.”

Staring dumbly at Clarke is probably the least helpful think she could do, but Lexa can’t help it. A little voice inside her head whispers devious things, but she forces herself to shove the daydreams she’s been torturing herself with aside and focus on the nervous mess that is in front of her. She swallows thickly, unsure of what to do, what to say, not knowing what could calm Clarke and what could spook her further. 

She reaches out and places a blonde curl behind her ear - it had fallen on her face when Clarke ran her fingers through her hair and Lexa needs to see her clearly, measure her words. “Clarke… It’s just me,” she speaks in a soft, tender voice and lets her fingertips trace Clarke’s cheek and neck before reaching out for her hands to hold them in hers, “It’s still just us, together, like it’s been since-” Lexa halts because it’s been  _ a week _ , it’s been only a handful of days but it feels more, it feels so, so much longer, it feels like they’ve been together for ages. “It’s just me,” Lexa repeats when she finally finds Clarke’s eyes, cementing the words further, trying to make them solid enough for them both to hold on to the idea.

“Well…  _ You _ scare me, Lex,” Clarke’s voice is tiny and barely there at all, but it feels so much like a punch to the stomach that Lexa feels her breath leaving her completely. She can see the unshed tears filling Clarke’s eyes, making them impossibly blue, and Lexa finds herself unable to tell what they  _ mean _ . She swallows past the lump growing fast in her throat and tries to let go of Clarke’s hands, give her the space she needs. But the blonde tightens the grip and steps closer to Lexa, furrowing her brows and narrowing her eyes a little as if she’s trying to find the right words. “But in a good way,” her eyebrows lift as her voice tilt up, going an octave higher. Lexa stares at Clarke for a moment, uncertain of what to make of her words, but soon gives into her touch, holding Clarke’s hand again and pulling her closer almost imperceptible. Did she stare Clarke the same way Clarke scared  _ her _ ? Did she also make Clarke feels like she could fight all the gods in the Greek pantheon and yet, somehow, a light breeze could knock her down? Instead of giving her any answer, Clarke just lets go of one of her hands and grips the other tighter, “Wait, hold on.”

Lexa  is all but astonished at how Clarke can just  _ drop _ a conversation as important as this, but keeps her mouth shut instead of prying for a better explanation and watches her move. Clarke clutches at Lexa forearm and uses it as support to keep her balance so she can reach for her boots, half properly taking them out, half just toeing out of it - but when Clarke bends down and her blonde hair spills on her face, Lexa can’t  _ breathe _ , let alone remember Clarke just said she’s scared of her.

Then she catches sight of something that makes all the knots inside of her loosen up and untie themselves until she feels lighter again. A breathy laughter leaves her throat as she points it out, “Fuzzy socks?”

Clarke pauses before she takes the white dotted red socks and straightens up slightly, smiling brightly at Lexa as she stretches out her leg and wiggles her toes. Only then Lexa notices that each toe is encased in the same way as fingers within a glove, “With toesies.”

“Toesies,” Lexa repeats in a chuckle, the word feeling almost foreign as it rolls out of her tongue, and she holds onto Clarke’s forearm as the blonde takes both her socks and stands barefoot in front of her. All the tension that has only grown between them since Clarke got into her room seem to vanish as the blonde lets go of her hands and smiles mischievously at Lexa.

Taking a few steps backwards before breaking eye contact, Clarke climbs on the bed, crawling to the center of it and sitting with her legs stretched out on front of her. Lexa watches from the foot of the bed as Clarke moves and gets comfortable, her hands hanging useless beside her now that she’s not holding Clarke anymore. Before Lexa can ask what she’s supposed to do, Clarke provides her a pretty straight forward answer: two light taps in the space between her legs make a pretty clear direction as to where Clarke wants Lexa to be.

Lexa sits on the edge of the bed, half facing Clarke as she tries to come up with a classy way to crawl towards Clarke. She decided to merely scoot over, ignoring Clarke’s amused smirk, until she’s sitting cross legged in front of Clarke, almost a foot away from her. It seems odd, like they’re about to do homework together rather than make out - at least, Lexa wants to believe that’s what’s going to happen.

Shaking her head and biting back a chuckle, like this scene is hilarious, Clarke runs her hands up Lexa’s legs, uncrossing them and pulling at her thighs until she’s sliding on the bed sheets and closer to her. They get so close Lexa needs to put her legs on top of Clarke’s thighs and plant her feet on the mattress to keep her balance. Lexa gets comfortable in between Clarke’s legs and she can actually feel Clarke crossing her ankles behind her back, her knees resting on the bed to accommodate her. Sitting like this, in a nest of Clarke, feels  _ right _ , like she’s been made to be there.

Leaning her forehead against Lexa’s, Clarke whispers, her mouth so close her breath hits Lexa’s cheek, “This is better.” All Lexa can do when Clarke circles her waist in a half hug is smile and sink into it, letting her shoulders sag and her hands curl around the soft worn sweater fabric.

Closing her eyes when Clarke kisses her, Lexa holds her breath as she presses back, the moment surrounded by such a delicate aura that she finds herself afraid to disrupt it. Clarke draws back for a moment, changes the angle of the kiss and captures her bottom lip in between hers, running the tip of her tongue across it. Lexa sighs into the kiss, letting a shaky breath out before she pass out, and leans in, sucking lightly at Clarke’s lip and opening her mouth to deepen the kiss. Clarke draws back before the kiss goes any further, pressing their lips together once more, and Lexa understands it.

Clarke wants to kiss her gently and softly, without any rush.

Lexa can give her just that.

She peppers tiny kisses in the corner of Clarke’s mouth before sealing their lips together again, moving slowly in a gentle kiss. Lexa feels Clarke reaching to cup her cheek at the same time she snakes her hand under the battered sweater, splaying her palms against the swell of Clarke’s stomach and tracing odd patterns with her fingertips on her skin. 

Lexa sighs into the kiss as Clarke slides her hand up and curls around her neck, keeping her impossibly close, and it’s  _ such _ a soft touch Lexa has to break the kiss to steady herself and blink away the tears always pooling in her eyes. “This is okay, right?” Clarke whispers against her lips, unwilling to let them part any further, “Is it okay?”

The question takes Lexa by surprise and she almost wants to ask Clarke what she needs to know is okay - them kissing in a way they never even imagined to do before or her coming over on Christmas day to kiss her. She lets out a soft chuckle and traces her nose against Clarke’s as she answers in a whisper, “Yes, this is okay.”

She leans back slightly, only enough for her to find Clarke’s eyes, look for a clue as to why she needs to ask when Lexa is so clearly into it. Instead, she finds Clarke’s lids heavy, the blue in her eyes sparkling as she stares back with a fierce gaze, all hesitation from minutes ago gone. Clarke lets go of her neck and traces her hand down her cheek and collar bone, until it lands on her chest, “Your heart is beating so fast.”

With Clarke’s eyes boring into hers, Lexa isn’t strong enough to hold anything back. “That’s what you do me,” she lets out in a croaky whisper before she has time to think her words over. The confession only makes her heart speed up and she  _ knows _ Clarke can feel it, she can see it in her eyes, in the way her eyebrows go high and her eyes go wide.

Before Lexa can find a way to cover up her slip up, Clarke smiles knowingly at her and presses a kiss on her lips, chuckling through it, and draws back. Clarke’s eyes fall to her hands, follow them as they travel down Lexa’s sides and settle up on her thigh. “There’s a reason I came here today, you know,” Clarke’s voice shakes as the words come out, fingers playing with the thin fabric of Lexa’s pajama pants. Lexa tilts her head slightly in a silent question and Clarke answers it promptly, “I didn’t want to spend Christmas alone,” her voice is small, but she finally lifts her eyes from the wrinkles she’s making and meets Lexa’s gaze, who swallows thickly in anticipation of where Clarke could be going with this, “I didn’t want to spend Christmas without you.”

Lexa can feel her heart jump and her stomach flip as she hears Clarke’s words, struggling to make sense of them. “You didn’t?” She’s glad Clarke doesn’t have her hand on her chest anymore - it’d be more than embarrassing for her to feel how hard her heart is pounding against her ribcage, almost threatening to break it and escape from her body altogether.

Clarke's breath catches on her throat hard enough for Lexa to see it - maybe she isn't the only one struggling to keep a calm facade with the other so close. “Yeah, I didn't,” Clarke bites her lip and looks back down, leaving Lexa's eyes to look for her fruitlessly, “The thought of spending an entire day without seeing you felt...  _ wrong _ , it didn't sit well with me. I- I woke up this morning and I just knew I had to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice,” the words tumble out of Clarke's lips faster than Lexa can catch her and she grips to the worn fabric of her sweater again, trying to ground herself. “I couldn't sleep well, all alone in my bed, and lying there I realize that's because- “ her voice breaks and all Lexa can do is focus on her words, try to understand them and convince herself she was hearing them right. Clarke's eyes meet hers, searching for something - she must find it, her eyes fill with tears at the same time her lips stretch in a smile. Clarke blinks, a tear rolling down her cheek, and Lexa catches it with her thumb, wiping it away as she cups her cheek gently. When Clarke finds her voice again, it's barely a shaky breath, “Because I- I'm falling in love with you.”

Her breath leaves her lips in a sigh and Lexa freezes, jaw slightly agape, eyes fixed on Clarke's impossibly blue ones. Lexa feels like she might die - her heart leaps and starts pounding so violently against her ribcage she can hear it beating in her ear and temples almost painfully, can feel the blood rushing in her veins to wildly she feels cold, and her throat closes like her own body forgot it needs oxygen.

Clarke is in love with her.

Clarke, who knocked her walls down before Lexa even realized she's was doing it, is in love with her.

The carefree girl who showed her that life should be more than just battling for survival, who held her hand when she thought there was no one else in the world willing to, who makes fun of her bad cooking, who made her into art, is in love with her.

The one who Lexa has been loving painfully and silently for months is in love with her as well.

Her lips tremble as she tries to remember how to form words. She traces her fingertips from Clarke's cheek to her neck, her collar bones, landing on her chest and she presses her palm to her heart - it's beating so fast and so wild Lexa is almost sure it matches the cadence of her own. “I've been in love with you since we met,” once she finds her voice, the words fall effortlessly, all shadow of reservation gone. Clarke is in love with her - she can open her heart and strip herself bare without the fear of rejection that plagued her thoughts. “I'm sure I didn't pretend otherwise very convincingly,” she says in a whisper, afraid that louder words could break the moment - not that she needs to say anything louder, Clarke is so close they're almost one. “Did you not know?”

Clarke smiles sheepishly and snakes her hand up, pressing her palm against Lexa's ribs in a familiar gesture that felt nearly overwhelming. “I think I did,” Clarke says and the end tilts in something akin to a question, “But I thought I was just... projecting my own feelings,” Clarke chuckles and Lexa does too - so, they both had the same thoughts. “Until the lake, that is. The things you said,  _ god _ \- That's when I was sure it wasn't all in my head.”

Playing with the frayed edge of Clarke's sweater for a moment before lifting the edge and splaying her hand on her stomach, Lexa squints, “The lake? When you told me to stop wasting time with you? You knew then?” She remembers how the words stung, the clear rejection hitting her like a punch to the stomach, making her head spin when the memory of Clarke asking if they were real came to the front of her mind. 

She remembers kissing Clarke with everything she had, trying to let her know she meant  _ her _ ;

Clarke bites her bottom lip, hiding a chuckle as she tries - and mostly fails - to look guilty. She traces her hand up, from Lexa's thigh to her stomach, landing on her neck and curling around the thin hairs on her neck, “Yeah, I knew. Subtlety isn't really your forte.”

Even if the memory still hurts slightly, Lexa can't keep her offended frown for long and ends up chuckling along, pinching the Clarke's side and earning a squeal, “And did you have to say something like  _ that _ , you  _ asshole _ ?” The sight of Clarke laughing so freely against her shoulder, eyes closed with how amused she is, erases all hard feelings Lexa might still hold on to, unadulterated love filling all her edges.

“I'll never get over you cursing. You sound  _ so damn cute _ ,” Clarke smiles wildly at her and presses a kiss on the tip of her nose when Lexa scrunches it up in a complaint, “I know my choice of words wasn't the best, but cut me some slack. The woman I'm in love with had just told me she loved me too, so I wasn't exactly thinking right.” Lexa can  _ hear _ the smile in Clarke's voice and she wants to pinch herself, make sure this isn't a dream. Clarke pulls at her neck, bringing her closer, until she's speaking almost against Lexa's lips, “I didn't want to start something at your mom's place, there was already so much at stake yesterday. I needed it to happen like this. I wanted it to be just us.”

Lexa pulls at Clarke's sweater, bunching it in her fist. She has to blink away the stubborn tears and she can swear everything in the room is blurry and only Clarke is on focus, she's the only thing Lexa can see, “Are we an 'us'?”

The anticipation makes Lexa's stomach turn as Clarke leans in the same time she does. Their noses brush, Clarke's breath is hot on her cheek and Lexa feels like she could fly when Clarke murmurs back, “We are.”

Their lips touch once more and Lexa slides both her hands under Clarke's sweater, hugging her in a way that lets her run her fingertips up and down her back in the same lazy way their kiss starts. There's something different in the way their lips move against each other, something sweeter that rushes through Lexa's bloodstream, leaving her giddy, feeling like she's floating. Lexa tilts her head when Clarke pulls at her neck and traces her tongue across her bottom lip, deepening the kiss in a way that makes Lexa gasp.

She could like in this moment and be happy forever - all she needs is Clarke pressing her hand against her ribcage, their lips sealed together, their heartbeats matching.

They break the kiss when it becomes too heavy to let them breathe right but they don't really part - they merely gasp for air, foreheads touching, breath mingling together. “Clarke?” Lexa whispers, almost afraid of ruining the moment, but Clarke hums against her lip and Lexa goes on, ignoring her aching heart, “What are we doing?”

“Making out,” Clarke's answer comes fast and precise and she kisses Lexa to prove her point. Lexa smiles against into the kiss at Clarke's urgency, shivering when a hand snakes under her pajama shirt and lands on her ribs again. It's colder than her skin, which is catches on fire with every touch, but Lexa can't utter a word as Clarke traces the underside of her breast, grazing her nails against Lexa's side, “Oh, someone isn't wearing a bra,” Clarke breaks the kiss to tease her, her eyes shining in a way Lexa had never seen before.

Is this what a truly happy Clarke looks like?

Lexa feels the tip of her ears burning at the same time heat pools at the bottom of her stomach - Clarke's light touch makes it hard for Lexa to catch her breath, makes it almost impossible to think, “I'm wearing pajamas, of course I'm not wearing a bra,” Lexa's small breasts never gave her any trouble when she decided to go bra less and she wonders if Clarke usually sleeps with hers on, feels giddy when she realizes she might find out pretty soon. It takes her a moment to focus on what she wanted to know in the first place, “You know what I mean.”

Drawing further back really look at Clarke, Lexa almost regrets bringing it up - she doesn't need answers now, she just needs Clarke's lips against hers and for the frown to disappear from Clarke's forehead. But before she can take it back, Clarke sighs and slides her hand from the back of her neck to tuck a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear before trailing down to her collarbone, “You're worried.” It's not a question, so Lexa doesn't answer. “I am too,” her voice is careful and low, but her eyes never leave Lexa's, “I- I've been in this situation before and- and I-” Clarke stops herself and it hits Lexa so hard she can barely breathe - Clarke has fallen for a client before and they hurt her so much she promised herself never to do that again. That's all she knows, but Clarke allowing herself to be vulnerable again makes Lexa ache and want to shove her words back down her throat. When Clarke speaks again, her voice is barely there, “Can I just kiss you for a little longer? And we'll talk about it after?”

Lexa nods and presses her lips on Clarke's in a soft kiss that lasts only a moment. “We'll figure it out. We'll find a way,” she mumbles more to herself than to Clarke and kisses her again, shedding her worries one by one as Clarke buries her fingers in her hair, draws her hand to the side until it's lightly cupping her breast. The kiss is slow and deep, tongues melding together as Lexa breathes Clarke in, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Clarke loves her as well.

Two people falling in love in the exact same way at the exact same time had always sounded like a once in a lifetime thing. It's always felt rare and unique, the way that two souls could connect like that. Lexa had had it with Costia and lost it so brutally she had settled in the knowledge she'd never love or be loved again. But with Clarke wrapped around her, kissing her like the calm sea kisses the beach, Lexa lets herself believe again.

She maps the curves and dips of Clarke's back, letting her fingers trail up her spine, feeling each bump, until she reaches her shoulder blades and then trails down her sides. Lexa is perfect content to stay there, kissing Clarke and having her smooth skin under her fingertips, but Clarke breaks the kiss and leans back, looking at Lexa with heavy lidded eyes as she reaches down for her sweater and pulls it over her head.

Her hair gets messier than it already was a moment ago and Lexa stares at her kiss swollen lips, a odd sense of pride filling her chest even if she knows her are in the same state. She bites her lips and lets her eyes travel shamelessly to Clarke cleavage - then she notices her bra. It's wildly different from the collection of lacy ones she's seen Clarke wearing so far; it's a simple black cotton one and it makes Lexa smile. She runs her hands from her back, settling one on her hip, the other traveling up until she could trace the heavy duty straps, gawking at how it contrasts with the pale skin underneath.

“I- I didn't really think about changing it,” Clarke blushes slightly, her cleavage turning adorably pink with it, and Lexa's meets her eyes with an amused glint while absentmindedly tracing down the strap, the edge of the cup, her cleavage.

It's clearly used for support rather than fashion and Lexa bends down to press a kiss on her collarbone, whispering against her skin, “I like it.”

Clarke runs her fingers through dark chestnut hair spilling over her chest until they find home on Lexa's neck and Lexa feels more than hears Clarke chucking, her breasts moving under her lips as she presses soft kisses here and there, “Good,” Clarke says, her voice filled with laughter, “Because I'm also wearing granny panties.”

Lexa laughs and kisses her again - it's an odd kiss because they're both smiling too wide, but she can't think of anything better. She lets both her hands trail down to Clarke's stomach, enjoying how the muscles jump at her touch, slowly reaching behind her and unhooking her bra. Breaking the kiss they had barely manage in between all their smiles, Clarke lets go of her hair to take her bra off and throw it away at the same time Lexa takes off her shirt, her breath catching in her throat when she sees the hunger in Clarke's eyes.

They stare at each other, all traces of humor gone and they take the other in. Lexa reaches out first, wrapping her arms around Clarke's neck and pulling her into a kiss. Her sigh comes out in a raggedy breath as their chests touch and Clarke slides her tongue against her, deepening the kiss as she palms her stomach.

For the first time, Lexa allows herself to feel Clarke as if she's  _ hers _ , without any restraints or reservations, without shame or hurry. She lets her fingers tangle in her blonde curls, holding her closer as her free hand travels lower, to the valley in between her breasts. Clarke deepens the kiss, tentatively at first, but soon enough finding their rhythm - she tastes the same, their tongues move together in a familiar pattern, but everything feels brighter and more intense, like every single one of her nerve endings is alight.

Clarke moves her hands to the small of Lexa's back, who jumps at the sudden feather like touch, breaking the kiss to laugh at how easily she can be spooked. Clarke laughs with her, leaning in against her cheek as the sound fills the room. Lexa can't remember the last time she laughed in the middle of a make out session, can't really tell if she ever did. Her heart beats wildly in her chest but she welcomes the feeling of lightness that engulfs her.

Clarke's lips find hers before her head hits the pillow, her tongue flicking against the roof of her mouth, and Lexa is lost in the kiss for a moment before she realizes Clarke pulled her down to a lying position. Lexa sighs and it comes out as a laughter - like her entire being can't contain the joy of being with Clarke like this. Clarke breaks the kiss and lifts herself on her elbows, giving Lexa a questioning look. She doesn't know how to explain that she's happier than she's ever imagined she could be, so she just shakes her head and places her palms in between Clarke's shoulder blades, pulling her back to a kiss.

Her lips swallow Clarke's sighs as her hands travel down, feeling the dips and curves, touches the muscles strained by the effort of keeping herself up. Clarke breaks the kiss and drags her lips down Lexa's throat, pressing light kisses on her pulse point that make her shiver and squirm under her touch. It's different from the open mouthed kisses that leave a wet train on her skin - those are  _ great, _ and Clarke can make her toes curl without even trying. But these soft ones make her stomach leap, each one a reminder that Clarke is in love with her as well.

Lexa traces her nails lightly down Clarke's back, enjoying the shaky sighs she feels against her skin, and hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her sweatpants, easing it down for her to unceremoniously palm her butt. She can't get it much further down than her hipbones, not with Clarke pressed against her, but Lexa grips at the swell of her behind nonetheless, tracing the edge of her panties and firmly pulling her down - if she's like a sixteen year old boy, she mentally shrugs and enjoys the feel of Clarke under her hands.

Clarke presses a last kiss on her collarbone and reaches in between them at the same time Lexa drags her hands back to her waist. Clarke tries to get rid of her pants without getting up, but only manages to get them halfway down her thighs before she grunts and breaks away from Lexa's embrace. She kneels back to shim out of her sweats, lifting one leg and then the other - it's not a polished move, it's hectic and graceless, and she almost falls from the bed before she finally tosses it to the floor. Lexa giggles - she  _ giggles _ -, happy beyond words that she gets to see this Clarke - the real one, who whispers “ _ shut up”  _ when she catches Lexa laughing at her clumsiness but smiles nonetheless.

“You weren't kidding when you said  _ granny panties _ ,” Lexa says with a teasing smile, her hands splayed on her stomach without a care about her own nakedness, her head tilted to the side for a better view of Clarke's body clad only in lilac panties, that resembles more boy shorts than granny panties. Clarke blushes slightly and pinches the inside of her thigh, Lexa yelps and trashes her legs in surprise - this teasing feels more than Lexa could hope for, it feels so overwhelming she can feel her chest tightening.

Before tears can well up in her eyes, Lexa feels Clarke hooking her fingers under her pants, grunting “Lift your butt, you dipshit.” Lexa lifts her thighs and behind from the bed, laughing so hard she can barely keep her muscles working long enough for Clarke to slide her pants off. When Clarke yanks her underwear along with her pants, Lexa slides a little down the bed before she anchors herself, laughter rippling through her body at how dramatic Clarke's pouting is.

Her chuckling dies down as she watches Clarke get up to finish undressing her, tossing her pants somewhere under the bed, and slide her own panties down her legs. All her amusement is replaced by a fire burning low in her stomach as a very naked Clarke crawls slowly towards her, pausing to place a kiss on her thigh, on the jut of her hipbone, her belly, the underside of her breast before she settles against Lexa, her full weight on hers. She can feel every inch of their bodies touching - their breast pressed together, legs intertwined, breaths mingled as their face remain only inches together. 

Lexa reaches up to tuck a blonde strand of hair behind her ear, tracing her fingers down to her neck. “I think I might like those panties better than anything you've ever worn,” Lexa says quietly, almost fearful of breaking the moment, “I know I like your sweatpants more than any of your skirts.” Clarke rolls her eyes and scoffs, placing a kiss on Lexa's jawline before tracing her lips to her neck. Lexa rolls her head to the side, giving Clarke more room to kiss, and sinks her fingers into blonde hair, curling the strands in a loose fist, “I'm serious. You wearing this makes you- makes  _ this _ feel more real.”

Clarke stops kissing her altogether and nuzzles her nose into Lexa's hair for a long moment - so long Lexa begins to worry she ruined the mood by saying something completely wrong. But Clarke is still soft against her when she moves to place her mouth near Lexa's ear, whispering in a choked up voice, “We are real, aren't we?”

The words from last night repeated back to her makes Lexa's insides turn. They shed a different light on everything that happened between them at her mom's house, they shake every belief Lexa thought she had, they erase any doubt still plaguing her thoughts. Clarke looks at her then, her eyes searching Lexa's. “We are,” Lexa answers firmly, even if her voice is shaky and her breath catches in her throat, “We're real, Clarke.”

Their lips meet in a slow, deep kiss that draws out sighs and gasps as their hands wander on bare skin - their words ignite a fire within them both that seems unstoppable now and, god,  _ please _ , Lexa doesn't want it to stop. Clarke traces her fingertips down the side of her body, smiling against Lexa's lips each time she shivers, and reaches for her thigh, pulling at it until Lexa takes the hint and wraps it around her waist, her heel resting against her thigh. Lexa revels in the way Clarke traces the back of her thigh, grips the underside of her knee, pulls her leg closer around her waist.

Lexa presses harder against Clarke's lips and snakes her hand in between their bodies, pushing Clarke slightly up so she can trace the outside of her breasts in a teasing touch, press her thumb to a strained nipple, relishing in the sounds Clarke makes - soft at first, more guttural after a light pinch, muffled against Lexa's lips when she soothes it. Clarke shifts on top of Lexa, adjusting herself on her thigh and Lexa breaks the kiss in surprise, leaving out a surprised ' _ oh _ ' when she feels the wetness coating her skin.

Clarke connects their lips again, swallowing her moan as she grinds down on her thigh, only lightly enough to have the lightest of frictions. Lexa trails her hand further down, raking her nails against Clarke's stomach, enjoying the louder noises before sliding her fingers within Clarke's wet folds. It's a light touch, barely more than Clarke's movements against her thigh, barely enough to take the edge of the built up need. Clarke kisses her, nibbling at her lip as she lets out a gasp when Lexa's digits come in direct contact with her clit, and deepens the kiss in a way that Lexa can't help but lose herself in, swallowing each gasp and each moan as she works Clarke up. She gets so caught up with how  _ good _ Clarke's slickness feels against her palm that she doesn't notice the blonde reaching for her until she buries her fingers within her, curling up inside her and drawing a shaky sigh from her, a plea that has its meaning lost and swallowed by Clarke's lips.

Lexa manages to focus long enough to change the angle of her wrist so she can slide her fingers inside Clarke, quickly finding a matching rhythm. They've never done it like this before, giving pleasure at the same time they're receiving it, and Lexa can almost tell why - it feels so  _ intimate _ it's scary. 

Clarke gasps as she shifts her hips and Lexa breaks the kiss that they're barely managing to keep together with their movements - she needs to see Clarke's face, needs to look into Clarke's eyes and  _ know _ that this infinity she's feeling isn't one sided.

“Clarke,” the word comes out in a gasp, the fingers within her working her up towards the edge fast, “Clarke, look at me,” she pleads in a heavy whisper, searching for the heavy lidded eyes that meet her in a moment, without any walls or restrictions. Lexa loses herself in the blue eyes, marveled by how Clarke goes slightly cross eyed when trying to look at her from such a tiny distance, and her stomach catches on fire with the intensity of her gaze. Electricity shoots to the apex of her thighs and Lexa can swear she could come from Clarke's hungry stare alone.

Lexa knows Clarke can see every emotion rushing under her skin, can feel her heart beating faster than a hummingbird's in her chest, can tell everything she's thinking. Her head swims when she feels Clarke gushing under her touch, wetness coating her palm as she works Clarke up - she has the same maddening effect on Clarke and that's an impossibility she's more than willing to accept.

They kiss when their raw emotions become too much, when their eyes show more than they're ready to say. Clarke moves with her thrusts and Lexa tightens her leg around her waist, the waves within her growing faster and dragging out for a longer time - she won't last long. She traces her nails down Clarke's back, searching something to hold on to when Clarke curls her fingers inside at just the right angle, leaving Lexa to moan and gasp and shiver. 

She breaks the kiss to bury her face on her pillow, as well as she can, gritting her teeth and lifting her hips to meet Clarke's thrusting, “Babe, I'm gonna-” 

“I know,” Clarke whispers against her cheek, her forehead resting on her temple. Instead of quickening her pace for Lexa to find release, Clarke slows her movements within her to an almost full stop at the same time she grinds down harder and faster on Lexa's palm. Her eyes are screwed shut in concentration and her voice is breaking when she speaks again, “I wanna come with you but I'm not- there.”

Lexa nods and reaches down to Clarke's hand, stilling it at once and pulling it out of her before dropping her leg from around Clarke's waist. “Okay,” she connects their lips in a soft and chaste kiss as she stops her movements altogether, pressing her palm to Clarke's hips so she stops moving as well. She looks for Clarke's eyes and finds something burning within them - Lexa can't tell if it's something good or bad. “Okay,” she whispers again with another peck on her lips.

Gathering momentum, Lexa swings her leg until she finds herself on top of Clarke. It's not a move she's used to doing and she lands gracelessly, elbow jabbing Clarke on her ribs, her curls all over their faces and in her mouth. Clarke laughs, half breathless with the attack on her ribs, and bunches Lexa's hair up in a makeshift bun that is held together by her fingers, “What are you doing?”

Lexa leans in and presses a kiss on Clarke's lips, sucking on her bottom lip before whispering, “Tell me when.” Clarke looks at her with a question in her frown, but it soon gets answered when Lexa quickly kisses her way down her throat, her sternum, drags her teeth over a stiff peak. She purposefully neglects Clarke's breasts to kiss her belly, smiling against her skin when Clarke laughs as she bites her side.

She never knew someone laughing during sex could be  _ such _ a turn on.

Looking at Clarke and meeting her painfully bright eyes, Lexa can see every hint of humor leaving her as she kisses the jut of her hipbone, the top of her mound, finally descending on her and licking her wetness into her mouth. They both sigh with the first touch and Lexa takes a moment to breath, to get more comfortable. She places her tongue flat against her clit for a moment before drawing circles around it, growing tighter as Clarke's grip on her hair grows more vicious. 

Lexa wraps an arm around Clarke's thigh, splaying her hand on her stomach, putting pressure on her lower belly, and lets her free hand travel up her sides, over her middle, up the valley of her breasts. Clarke closes her fist around Lexa's hair, first to ground herself as sighs and moans ripple through her, then to guide Lexa to where she wants her to be. Lexa closes her eyes and obeys, tasting Clarke as much as she can and taking everything the blonde gives her.

By the time Clarke is squirming under her, lifting her hips off the bed to meet her tongue more fully, Lexa can't keep her smirk at bay. She only stops when Clarke tugs harder at her hair, murmuring commands in a broken voice, “I'm there. Come here. Kiss me.”

Lexa is more than happy to oblige, kissing her way up her stomach, pressing an open mouthed kiss here and there every time Clarke shivers. She nuzzles in between Clarke’s breasts, places a kiss to the underside of it and lets her bottom lip drag over the sensitive skin, smiling when she feels Clarke trying to catch her breath in an almost hiccup. Lexa kisses her sternum, her collarbone, her jawline, feeling Clarke working her fingers out of the tangled mess she had jumbled her hair in.

With her lips pressed softly to the underside of Clarke’s jaw, Lexa smiles when she feels Clarke letting go of her hair completely, letting it fall as a curtain around them before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She tosses all her hair to one side to get it out of the way and moves up to kiss Clarke, only to find tears running down her temple. “Hey,” her voice is soft and worried as she reaches out to wipe the stubborn tears away, but Clarke refuses to meet her eyes, “What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, Clarke shifts under Lexa until they’re more comfortable and cups her cheek, pulls her closer, eyes falling closed as she whispers, “Nothing, just- kiss me.”

Lexa indulges and presses her lips softly against Clarke’s, her eyebrows knitting in a frown as Clarke traces her nails against her cheek. Her thumb is still on her temple and she feels another tear roll down, feels her stomach tumbling a few inches, feels worry filling her insides. Lexa breaks the kiss before it can grow any deeper, looking at Clarke’s closed eyes and trying to put an edge on her voice, something akin to a warning, to a plea, “ _ Clarke _ .”

Clarke keeps her eyes closed, tracing her fingertips softly up and down Lexa’s cheek. The movement almost lulls Lexa into sleep, distracting her from the topic at hand as she herself gets lost in the path she draws up and down Clarke’s temple with the pad of her thumb. It’s a long moment before Clarke opens her eyes and says in a broken whisper, “I’m scared.”

It takes Lexa a few seconds to put meaning to Clarke’s words - she’s so involved in the movement of her thumb, up and down soft skin, that it almost spooks her when bright blue eyes, filled with tears, stare back at her. “Of what?” her voice is tentative, with a worried edge to it, and she draws back slightly, ready to flee the bed depending on Clarke’s answer to the next two words, that come out as barely a movement of her lips, “Of me?”

Clarke is quick to shake her head, wrapping her free hand around the small of her waist to keep her close. Lexa settles on her chest, giving Clarke the time she needs to put her feelings into words - she, more than anyone, knows how hard that can be. She swallows thickly at the sight of Clarke’s eyebrows knitting together, her breath coming out in shaky puffs as she grounds herself by running her fingertips on Lexa’s skin. When she does give her an answer, her voice is so full of emotion Lexa can barely handle it, “I’m scared of what I’m feeling. For you.” Clarke blinks away a tear that Lexa is quick to wipe away, “It’s too much. I- I feel powerless, all I can do is  _ feel _ and get ready to get hurt. Because that’s how it happens with me,” she says it all in barely one breath and Lexa can’t think of anything to say, because she feels the same - they’ll end up hurting each other, that’s how the story always goes. Lexa presses a kiss to her jawline, smoothing her hair back and holding on to the feeling of Clarke tracing odd patterns on her lower back. Even being so close to Clarke, she almost doesn’t hear what she says next, “Aren’t you?”

The question takes Lexa aback. She’s spent the last few days so worried about how she’ll get over Clarke when their arrangement is over that she never took the time to consider what would happen if Clarke felt the same - and she does,  _ she does _ . It doesn’t take much for her mind to come up with all the hardships they might face, all the ways they could break each other and tear themselves apart. Lexa knows she’s not an easy person to deal with, that there’s a reason for her to be so devoid of friends and love interests, that she prefers to spend the weekends alone with a good book than trying to make someone like her. And there are whole sides of Clarke she has no idea even exist. This is their honeymoon phase and it’ll soon become a past they barely remember amidst all the resentment the getting home from the office at three in the morning and lashing out without reason can bring.

But she remembers Costia, remembers all the times they almost tore each other to pieces and remembers how they put the other together every time. Their love was bigger than all the bad things that happened to them - and Lexa’s feelings for Clarke seem even stronger, if that’s even possible.

They’ll get through anything.

Lexa lets out a breath, shaking with the weight of Clarke’s question, and places a kiss on her jaw, speaking against her skin, “I’m  _ terrified _ ,” she swallows her fear and draws back to meet Clarke’s eyes - there aren’t any tears in them anymore, only a warmth that envelops Lexa’s entire being, “But we’re worth a shot. Aren’t we?” She looks for an answer at the lines in her face, and Clarke is quick to nod. She mouths “we are,” but no sounds come out. Lexa feels Clarke’s hand tracing up her back, feeling the dips of her spine, and everything comes alight within her once more. With more effort than it should be, Lexa manages to squeak out, “We don’t have- We can stop, if you want to.”

“Never,” Clarke whispers through a teasing smirk, biting her lip as she looks at Lexa through heavy lidded eyes. They’re worth a shot, they’re worth a thousand of them.

Half snorting in laughter, Lexa kisses Clarke, her lips moving softly against hers, taking the bottom lip in between her teeth as her fingers brush Clarke’s back away from her forehead. Clarke moves her head up to deepen the kiss, her fingers curling around her neck as she pulls Lexa impossibly closer. They’re right where they left off, their bodies moving in their own accord until they’re both panting with the  _ ache _ of feeling the release so close and not quite within reach.

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat when Clarke presses the pads of her fingers to the hollow of throat, too lightly to be anything but enticing, and draws them downwards. Clarke swallows every sigh as she drags her nails down her collarbone, the side of her breast, her ribs, the swell of her belly. When Clarke enters her - one finger at first, another soon joining in a lazy rhythm - Lexa is nearly over the top.

She catches up fast, snaking her hand in between their bodies and finding the same cadence as her fingers slide through slick folders and find home within Clarke. Their kiss is broken by sighs and gasps, but neither woman wants to part lips - it’s odd and it takes effort, but stopping the kiss when they’re both so close seems like an impossibility.

Clarke comes first, that’s when they break the kiss. Lexa draws back to watch Clarke’s face twisted in concentration as she tips over the edge, her back arched, her mouth open in a silent plea, her eyes closed shut. That sight alone makes Lexa tumble over the edge, grinding down harder on Clarke’s fingers as she muffles her gasps against the crook of her neck, both of them riding down their high in frantic moves.

Lexa drops her weight on top of Clarke when her arms grow too weak to hold herself up and settles against her chest as they both struggle to get their breathing back to normal. It’s a different kind of high, Lexa supposes, to make love instead of have sex. Sex with Clarke is mindblowing, the climax coming fast and devastating, leaving her nearly senseless as she comes down. But  _ making love _ with Clarke is something else, the build up is slow and steady, every moment of it making her achingly aware of how beautiful Clarke is, how well their bodies fit, how incredibly lucky she is.

She could do this all her life without ever getting tired of it.

When she finally does catch her breath and the ability to move returns to her legs, Lexa adjusts herself until she’s lying more beside Clarke than on top of her, her stomach lining up against the side of Clarke’s hip, her legs intertwining on their own accord. Lexa sets her head on top of Clarke’s chest, listening to the steady beating of her heart as their breathing find a matching rhythm, and wraps her arm around her waist until it settles right beside her navel. 

Lexa lets her eyes fall closed as Clarke sinks her fingers in her hair, brushing through the tangled mess. As she rises and fall with each breath Clarke take, Lexa smiles at the feeling of Clarke’s fingertips brushing against her temple to swipe a few stubborn strands of her back, running her fingers through the entire length of her hair and beginning again. It lulls her to an almost sleep, that moment suspended in time where all she feels is calm and peace.

She sighs in a half heartedly attempt to keep herself awake, but Lexa can feel slumber taking over her - she doesn’t fight it, there’s nothing she’d rather do than fall asleep in Clarke’s arms. Lexa snuggles further into Clarke’s chest, bringing her hand slightly up to fully embrace her, and just as she’s about to fall asleep, something calls her attention. 

Clarke’s heartbeat - the steady, almost lazy beating becomes wild all of a sudden, pounding so hard against the ribcage Lexa can actually  _ see _ its echoes on Clarke’s chest as she cracks one eye open.

Lifting her chin ever so slightly, Lexa kiss the spot under her collar bone, right above where her heart is, and whispers against her skin, “What’s wrong?”

She looks up to meet Clarke’s eyes, only to find them closed, a faint smile spreading across her lips. “Nothing,” Clarke whispers as slides her hand from Lexa’s hair to her back as she moves, settling on running the pads of her fingers against her spine, “Why?”

“Your heart started racing,” Lexa whispers against Clarke’s jaw as she leans against her elbows, her body aligned with hers again. She hopes for Clarke to open her eyes, suddenly needing to see that hue of blue that started feeling like home, but they remain stubbornly closed.

“I-” Clarke starts but pauses, laughing lightly against Lexa’s cheek before she presses a kiss to it. The silence goes on for a moment and Lexa gazes at Clarke’s flushed skin - either from their love making or from what she’s about to say, Lexa can’t tell. “I was just…  _ wondering _ , I guess,” Clarke finally opens her eyes and meets Lexa’s, burning through her with the fire she carries, but her voice nearly breaks as she says, “How is it possible to care so  _ fucking _ much about someone I’ve know for what, a week?”

“Like you said, we make a pretty convincing fairytale,” the words fall from her lips before she  can think them through, but they feel as real of an answer as any. Lexa wants to say she began to fall in love when they shared their first kiss, when she told her about Costia and she didn’t look at her with pity. She wants to say the heart works in odd ways, she wants to say this one week has been a thousand days condensed into barely a handful.

The words never make it out of her mouth, Lexa swallows them back when Clarke presses her lips against hers. As Clarke deepens the kiss, her tongue languid and familiar, Lexa doesn’t even remember how to put words together. Clarke presses her palm to the small of her back as her other hand reaches for her jaw, bringing them close together, making sure their kiss doesn’t break. Lexa barely knows how to steady herself, the emotion in the kiss overwhelming all of her senses. She tries to straddle Clarke so she can find her ground again, but Lexa ends up pressing her thigh against the apex of Clarke’s thighs, feeling how ready she is for a second round, the soft low rumble in her throat sending a jolt down Lexa’s spine.

Lexa moves her lips to Clarke’s jaw, ignoring the slightly disapproving humming she gets when she breaks the kiss, working her way down her neck with tiny, feather like kisses. She swirls her tongue on her pulse point, scraping her teeth against it, and she’s content to hear a similar rumble coming from Clarke.

Except it’s not coming from her throat.

Lexa stops kissing her to stare at Clarke in amusement as they both hear the loud growling of her stomach filling the silent room. The sound goes on for impossibly long and Lexa can’t keep a straight face, chuckling freely as Clarke sets her jaw tightly in embarrassment. 

Pressing a kiss on Clarke’s jaw until it loosens up, Lexa whispers, “Okay, I know what  _ that _ noise means,” she doesn’t really have to ask why her stomach is yelling at them, and Clarke laughs together with Lexa when her stomach repeats the same noise, “Do you want to order something?”

Clarke hums her answer, as if she’s considering ordering hotel food and eating off each other’s back - Lexa can’t really say she’d be opposed to that. Running her fingertips up and down Lexa’s spine, Clarke whispers instead, “Why don’t we go out?” Lexa finds her eyes, pushing her blonde hair out of her forehead as she continues, “There’s a Chinese place down the street, we can walk there.”

Holding Clarke’s gaze for a moment, trying to find her answers in there, Lexa smiles and presses her lips against hers. They’ve been to fancy restaurants where no one ate much and parties where the finger food was more decorative than anything, but they’ve never went out to a simple restaurant, to enjoy a meal together - just the two of us, just each other’s company.

It feels so much like a dream that Lexa is all but asking Clarke to pinch her.

Breaking the kiss before it beyond the turning point, Lexa whispers, “That sounds  _ amazing _ .” If she’s being honest, the mere thought of eating real food instead of binging on nuts and wine makes her hungry - oh, potstickers would go  _ well _ right about now. Kissing Clarke chastely once more, Lexa grunts as she climbs out of bed, “Let me change.”

She doesn’t really think about grabbing a robe or wrapping her naked body in one of the sheets before getting up and making her way towards the dresser, Clarke has seen it all already, kissed every part of her. Lexa looks over her shoulder to find Clarke sprawled in bed, her sleepy eyes glued to her naked body, memorizing every inch of it through their almost nap haze. She feels warmth pooling at the bottom of her stomach, a fire crippling up her neck, but Lexa lets Clarke watch her move because, well, she’s hers to watch.

The thought that she belongs to Clarke brings a whole new warmth to her chest and Lexa crinkles up her nose in a funny face before turning back and fumbling through the drawers, grabbing a few items and walking to the bathroom. She leaves the door open and it’s not really an invitation, but rather a sign of trust - even if she does try to hide a little. It’s one thing to undress in front of a lover, each piece of clothing falling to the floor in an urge to feel  _ more _ , but it’s something else entirely to put clothes back on while said lover is staring hungrily. Lexa isn’t even all that sure she’s made it through all the motions.

She dresses quickly, tucking her white satin blouse into her jeans and throwing a tailored blazer over it, and stands in front of the mirror for a moment, taking herself in as she loosens her long curls from the jacket’s collar. Her lips are bruised from kissing Clarke, her neck is peppered with the evidence from kisses that lasted too long and her hair is so messy she thinks about just wrapping it up on a bun. 

There’s something in her eyes she doesn’t quite recognize - a shimmer to it that wasn’t there before and she can only assume that’s what happiness looks like on her.

Lexa leaves the bathroom still barefoot, trying to decide between the messy bun she wants to go for and a braid, since leaving it loose is out of the question. She finds Clarke still star-fishing in the middle of the bed and it makes her smile when she cracks one eye open to look at Lexa before she rolls in bed until she’s lying on her stomach. Clarke is very unapologetic about her nakedness and Lexa appreciates the faint marks her fingernails left on her back as she was craving release.

Clarke props herself up on her elbows and stares at Lexa, eyeing her from head to toe with a quizzical look, “It’s not  _ fair _ for you to go out like that.”

“What? Why not?” Lexa feels her throat closing slightly, anxiety filling her as she eyes her outfit, wonders if she should take her blouse out of the waistband of her jeans, or maybe trade the jeans for a pencil skirt, “What’s wrong with it?”

Taking her sweet time to answer, clearly enjoying the way Lexa squirms under her scrutinizing glare, Clarke sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and crossing them at the ankles. Lexa watches her with mild panic in her eyes, which must be clear when Clarke meets her gaze and she says through a smirk, “You can’t go out looking like you just came out of a fashion show when I’m dressed like a homeless person.”

Lexa breathes out a laugh in relief and rolls her eyes, walking the few steps to the bed. She stops half a step away from Clarke, their bare feet touching, and leans in to press a kiss on her temple. It’s a half kiss, half chuckle, and Lexa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she teases, “It’s not my fault you didn’t change.”

Scoffing offendedly, Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s thighs, pulling her that half step closer, burying her face in her stomach and talking around the fabric, “Well,  _ excuse me _ if I was too nervous about coming here to tell you how I feel about you to change into formal wear.”

A hearty laughter leaves her chest when Clarke playfully bites the soft skin under her breast and Lexa lets her fingers scrape against Clarke’s neck, “What should I wear, then?”

They stay quiet as Clarke tries to come up with something for her, and Lexa allows herself to enjoy the stillness of the moment. Her fingertips run from the base of Clarke’s neck to the middle of her spine and she wraps her free arm around her shoulder loosely as she feels Clarke’s palm traveling up the swell of her back and up her waist, nestling it against the middle of her lower back. Lexa feels rather than see Clarke turning her head to the other side right before she says in a muted voice, “My sweatshirt.” Lexa stops her movement and looks at Clarke, raising an eyebrow in answer to Clarke’s smirk, “What? You look cute in it.”

Deciding against declaring out loud that she loved that sweatshirt more than any of her own clothes, Lexa settles for pressing a kiss to her blonde hair, “Fine, and you go get dressed, I’m getting hungry too.”

Lexa sighs as she takes two steps backwards, freeing herself from Clarke’s arms when all she really wants is to stay in them. But in no time her stomach will start growling as well, so she merely purses her lips as she starts to dress down. She slips out of her jacket and hangs it on the headboard, making a mental note to put it away when they’re back from dinner, and starts unbuttoning her blouse. She’s shamefully slowed down by the sight of a very naked Clarke searching for her panties and sliding her sweatpants on. She does that thing that Lexa always saw Lincoln doing, where they snap the elastic waistband on their belly, and, in that moment, she can’t believe she finds Clarke as sexy as she does right then and there.

Folding her blouse neatly and putting it back inside a drawer, Lexa walks towards the chair where she hung the sweatshirt the morning before. She stops halfway to watch Clarke slipping into her sweater and it’s a precious sight - Clarke, the woman who can bring her to her knees with one single sultry look, with both her hands up, trying to get her head through the collar while her whole midriff is showing.

Lexa smiles fondly at her as she pulls the frayed edges of her sweater down until Clarke is actually dressed and not in the middle of a losing battle. Clarke huffs like a toddler and pouts when Lexa tries to get her blonde mess back to something resembling hair, but softens when Lexa presses a kiss on her cheek.

Placing a last strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear, Lexa walks the distance to the sweater and slips it on with much more composure than Clarke, which does earn her a dirty look, looking fondly at the NYU stitched on the front. She fishes a discreet pair of ankle boots from the closet, something that doesn’t scream ‘ _ fashion show _ ’ and seems to be a safe bet, and goes looking for Clarke.

She finds her in the living room, flipping through the stupid Russian novel as she waits. Lexa half rolls her eyes, making a mental note to tell Clarke to take the book home, and walks past her, whispering “ _ nerd _ ” as she makes her way to the couch where Clarke’s coat and scarf lie. She grabs them both and hands them to Clarke, putting her own coat on right after she closes the door shut behind them.

Walking to the Chinese restaurant less than a block away feels oddly domestic, something they do every other Thursday when Lexa gets home earlier from court. Their hands slip together, both of them foregoing gloves to have the feel of each other’s nearly freezing skin against theirs, and intertwine their fingers, the heavy winter biting their cheeks. The snow from the night before had stuck to the ground, making it more a slippery mess than an actual winter wonderland, but it seems perfect just like that.

Halfway down the block, Clarke grows frustrated with the cold and shoves their intertwined hands in her coat pocket. It’s not exactly roomy and the angle is almost uncomfortable, but Lexa merely snuggle closer, making it work. Clarke looks at her for a long moment as they stumble down the street and sets her cold nose on the crook of her neck, “I can’t believe we actually get to do this.”

Lexa squeezes her hand inside her pocket, finding hers to be much warmer than Clarke’s - maybe asking her to  _ walk _ wearing only sweatpants hadn’t been the brightest idea she’s had today. She quickens her pace as she smiles, her breath forming a cloud in front of her as she says, “What, hold hands?”

They pause in front of the restaurant and Clarke takes their joined hands out of her pocket, the question hanging in between them. The wintry wind lashes against their now warm skin but Lexa can’t tell if that’s the reason she shivers or the way Clarke looks at her when she says, “Be a couple.”

All the air escapes Lexa’s lungs - a  _ couple _ , they’re a couple. A few hours ago, they were nothing. Now they’re a couple.

Lexa pulls at their joined hands until Clarke half swirls around and they meet halfway in a kiss. They’re smiling too wide for it to be a polished, gentle kiss, but Lexa will rank it among their best ones.

She holds the door open for Clarke, who hurries inside once she feels how welcomingly warm it is inside, pulling Lexa along with her. The place is mostly empty - clearly not everyone craves Chinese food during Christmas day - and they find themselves a nice secluded booth, near a tall window that lets them enjoy the winter day from somewhere warm enough for them to shed their overcoats.

Lexa runs her hands across the stitched letters on her chest, tracing the line work, and wraps her arms together as she leans against the table. The collar of the sweatshirt still smells like Clarke and she has to consciously stop herself from sticking her nose in it to smell it, choosing to enjoy the way the soft fabric rubs against her arms. She can’t quite remember the last time she wore a sweatshirt - probably during her first year of law school, when she’d take comfort over fashion any day of the week since the people who saw her the most was the library staff - and she’s about to comment on that when Clarke asks if she’s ready to order.

She hasn’t looked at the menu yet, but with a quickly glance she decides to go with her usual order when it comes to Chinese. Anya calls her boring, she prefers the term reliable. Clarke signals for the closest staff member and jumps into her order, “I’m getting the orange chicken, some chow mein and oh, wonton soup! And potstickers.” her tone is that of a child that just got told she can go to any ride at Disneyland and Lexa can’t help her raised eyebrows as she smiles at Clarke, who merely shrugs, only half embarrassed, ”I’m  _ really  _ hungry. We can share the potstickers though.”

“Then, in this case, I’ll just get the kung pao chicken and some fried rice,” Lexa says and hands the menu back to the waiter, truthfully barely taking the young man in at all. She turns to Clarke, who tells the kid to ‘hurry the fuck up’, amusement clear in all her features, “Half your potstickers are mine.”

Clarke nods in agreement, but Lexa can tell it’s half heartedly at best. She bites her lip and perks up from her seat, “Do you think we can get dessert after this? They only have fortune cookies and that’s  _ not _ dessert.”

Laughter bubbles in Lexa’s chest and she nods, “Yes, of course.” She’d like to take Clarke to a bakery near her office in Toronto that has a selection so incredible even Gustus, who’s hardly a sweet tooth, indulges every once in awhile. She herself would kill for one of their brownies, but they’d have to settle for whatever the hotel had to offer, “I never saw you eat like this. I think the only time I actually saw you eat at all was the night we had pizza. And at my mom’s.”

“I don’t usually eat when, well, when I’m at work,” her answer is simple and straightforward. Lexa clenches her jaw for a moment, but nods nonetheless. The silence that follows is slightly awkward, but Clarke soon recovers and wiggles her eyebrows at Lexa, “But well, we’re not that anymore, so get ready to be impressed.”

They will have to talk about Clarke’s work eventually, as well as Lexa’s. She figures she could relocate to New York, since she has been spending a lot of time traveling back and forth between the two cities already, but for now, she just follows the conversation, “Where does all that food go?”

“I have a fast metabolism, I guess.” Clarke cranks her neck up, trying to see into the kitchen as if that would get their food to them faster. “Also, I move a lot. Like, six times a week exercising kind of lot.”

Lexa props her elbows up on the table, leaning her chin on her folded hands, “Really? What do you do?” It’s idle chit chat, but Lexa finds herself waiting eagerly for an answer. She can’t really be blamed if the image of Clarke in a sports bra makes her mouth go dry, can she?

“I swim whenever the weather makes me motivated, I alternate between Muay Thai and kickboxing at my gym, and I started hot yoga a while ago,” the sports bra Clarke in Lexa’s imagination gains a pair of boxing gloves and a glorious sheen of sweat that coats her stomach and has Lexa reaching for her water to wash it away. Clarke seems blissfully unaware of it all as she continues, “Seriously, one hour in yoga class and I can eat a pound of pasta without guilt.” The waiter comes over with more bowls than he should be carrying and sets them in front of them. It doesn’t surprise Lexa when Clarke dives right in before even thanking him, “And how do you keep your fine ass in shape?”

Lexa pauses a piece of chicken halfway to her mouth, watching with an amused smile as Clarke puts a whole dumpling in her mouth and ends up looking a lot like a chipmunk. She sets her forearm on the edge of the table, holding her chicken in between her chopsticks as she answers, “I run, whenever I can, which isn’t that often. I also forget to eat a lot, so that really helps I guess.”

It sounds more pitiful than it actually is. Her schedule often gets set up around meals with clients, and there are days she goes to three lunches and still squeeze in two dinners. And she does eat, even if it’s a forkful here and a sandwich on her way home there. But that clearly seems outrageous to Clarke. “Get ready to never miss a meal again,” she speaks around her mouthful and Lexa smiles at the mere thought of Clarke reminding her to take snacks with her when they part in the morning, maybe sending a text around lunchtime to make sure she gets something in her. “But I get how you’re always forgetting to eat. I wouldn’t eat much either with your cooking skills.”

Lexa nearly chokes on her rice with the laughter that erupts from her, and she reaches for her water, feigning frustration as she answers, “Am I ever going to live that down?”

“When you cook me a delicious meal that doesn’t end up with firemen at our door, mayhaps,” Clarke stares at her with raised eyebrows and tilts her head as she pops a piece of chicken in her mouth. Lexa doesn’t miss the way she says  _ our _ door. Clarke points her chopsticks accusingly at her when she sees Lexa hasn’t taken another bite from her lunch, “And  _ eat _ , you can’t just stare at my pretty face.”

“You’re bossy when you’re hungry,” Lexa says in amusement as she steals a potsticker. Clarke honest to god  _ glares _ at her while fiercely shoving as much chow mein in her mouth as possible, and Lexa makes a show to eat it glaring back.

It’s fun and it’s easy and she never wants this feeling to end.

“You have my mom to thank for that one.” Clarke mumbles through her mouthful, chewing quickly and swallowing fast so she can continue her thought. Lexa almost reaches out to wipe the sauce smeared across her bottom lip, but Clarke licks it clean as she talks, “I didn’t really like to eat when I was little, so she’d boss me around and I’d reply with banshee screams.”

“Weren’t you a cute kid?” Lexa laughs and imagines a toddler yelling bloody murder because she doesn’t want to eat her food, throwing half of it on the floor, the other half on her mom. Lexa imagines having to negotiate with a baby so they’d eat something,  _ anything _ , only to give up trying the veggies and settling for the pasta, even if the entire high chair ends up covered in marinara sauce.

She’s too far down that path when she realizes the child she’s picturing isn’t  _ Clarke _ , but just someone who has the same hair as hers and the same kind smile.

“I actually was. I can show you some pictures from when I was a tiny toddler, literally the most adorable thing ever.” Clarke settles back, grabbing a potsticker with her fingers and nibbling at it. Once again the images flood her mind and Lexa has to convince herself that she’s simply picturing  _ Clarke _ . “I have these two pictures of me wearing an overall dress. You can see I  _ clearly _ thought I was fucking killing it,” Clarke continues and Lexa chews on her veggies, her smile barely allowing her to actually do it, “In one pic I’m sitting with my knees together, smiling like a good girl. The other one was taken like five seconds after, and I’m pulling the skirt over my head and my dad is just a blur trying to keep me from stripping.” Lexa laughs at the mental image so hard her food almost makes the way back, and she has to force herself to swallow before she chokes to death. The sound of Clarke’s laughter makes her looks up and she can’t quite tell if Clarke is laughing about the story or at the miserable figure Lexa is at the moment, “Were you always this put together? I can imagine you as a baby already talking with nothing but big words.”

Lexa can tell very clearly that the ‘this put together’ is sarcasm, but she’s too breathless from laughter to mind. “Not at all,” she says and reaches for her water, knowing her face was probably as red as the bell peppers in her dish, “In fact, you won’t find a single picture of me wearing a dress until maybe high school. I was a tomboy.”

“You were  _ not _ .” The pure disbelief in Clarke’s voice makes her smile. Lexa takes another bite of her chicken and finds Clarke still looking at her, trying to figure out her lies, “You weren’t a tomboy, you were a tiny lawyer. You know those kids that wear pant suits to meet the president? You were one of those.”

“I grew up with  _ Lincoln _ , have you seen him?” Lincoln might not have always been the muscles over muscles kind of guy he is today, but he’s always been a free spirit and Lexa has always followed his footsteps, “He was allowed to go out more often, since he’s older. But he’d sneak me out and we’d climb trees with his friends, betting on who could get on the highest branch.” Lexa smiles fondly at the memory of the wind picking up the higher up she went, her long curly hair growing so tangled her mom would take hours to comb through, “We’d get so dirty playing that our mom would make us wash up outside,” Lexa pauses to scoop up some rice and finds Clarke gazing at her, her food momentarily forgotten as she listened to her story, “That’s mostly what I did, get dirty and get hurt. I have scar tissue in my knee that could never recover. But my left arm always took the worse of it, I think I broke it five or six times.”

“Six times?” Clarke’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline, an incredulous look clear in her eyes. It makes Lexa chuckle, knowing she can surprise Clarke with something so small, “That’s- A blatant lie. Text your mom, we’re going over and I’m getting that story straight.” Clarke says in a serious tone, but the way she wolfs down her half neglected chicken tells otherwise.

Lexa covers her mouth with the back of her hand to chuckle lightly at how aggressive Clarke sounds, her chopsticks nearly falling from her fingertips, “Oh, she’s going to tell you about one time I managed to break it in two places and here, give me your hand.” Lexa drops her chopsticks and reaches out for Clarke, who places her hand softly on top of Lexa’s awaiting palm. She runs Clarke’s fingertips near her elbow, staring at the distance as she focus on the feeling of the pads of her fingers on her skin instead of bright, curious blue eyes. They run over the thin scar Lexa is searching, “My bone broke the skin there so badly I had to get almost twenty stitches besides the ones in the surgery to put it back together”

Clarke traces the scar tissue after Lexa lets go of her hand. It’s faint and almost not there anymore, but it does earn her a respectful look, “How did you  _ do  _ this?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Lexa tilts her head as she says, “I fought this guy who was  _ not _ afraid to beat up a girl and he stepped on my arm.” Lexa remembers the asshole who had been harassing her softball team on their way back from practice, her teammates telling her to let it go and the next thing in her mind is all two hundred and fifty pounds of him crushing her bones. She used her right arm to punch his testicules so hard they almost went up his body again, so it was worth it.

She tells Clarke that story and her light amusement morphs into full blown admiration. You’re- fuck, you’re wild,” Clarke chuckles as she returns to her food, offering Lexa another potsticker, “I pictured you like, well, much like Chyler to be honest.”

“My mom would have killed for children as well behaved as Chyler,”Lexa laughs and shakes her head as she remembers how many times her mother had to pry them apart and force them to apologize for doing something wrong, mostly to neighbors with broken fences and shattered windows. “She says karma will get us both and by god, if I have a child half as bad as Lincoln and I were, I’m doomed.”

“Do you want kids?” Clarke’s voice is soft and low when she asks as if she’s treading on dangerous ground.

It’s been so long since anyone has cared enough to ask Lexa this that she has to check up on herself, make sure her answer hasn’t changed. She has envisioned married life with Costia once, too many years ago. They had daydreamed about walking down the aisle together, raising a baby together, having date nights. Lexa smiles at the memory and smiles at Clarke’s question, “I- yeah, I guess- Yes, I do. I didn’t- before Costia, I mean, I never imagined myself being someone’s mother and I guess it stuck,” she narrows her eyes and sighs, the memory of their plans of getting pregnant jabbing painfully on her side. Costia has always been the one with baby fever, always the one they said would get pregnant, always the one smiling at any child, “I don’t really imagine myself pregnant, but yes, I want to be a mom.”

Clarke nods and smiles back at her, setting down her chopsticks and focusing entirely in the conversation. “I can totally imagine you having that beautiful pregnancy glow,” her voice is still soft and her eyes shine with barely contained excitement, “I- I want to be pregnant, I want to  _ create _ life from almost nothing. I want enough kids to fill an entire minivan and be loud at every sport event and get snacks to everyone. I’ve never had that and- I really want a big family with all its flaws.” Clarke takes a deep, shaky breath and Lexa reaches over the tablecloth to take her hand in hers. “If you do have a kid as bad as you and Lincoln were, well… you’ll have someone to help with your little hurricane.”

The meaning behind those words hang heavy in between them. Clarke bends down to press a kiss on Lexa’s knuckles, her lips soft and full of promise. Lexa can barely hold herself together as she whispers, “I’d love that.” 

Clarke straightens up but doesn’t let go of Lexa’s hand, their food completely forgotten. Lexa watches as the seriousness leaves Clarke and a childlike grin lightens up her entire form, “ _ Hurricane _ , that’s an incredible name for a kid.”

She barely has time to roll her eyes before laughter ripples through her body and she squeezes Clarke’s fingers within hers. “We are  _ not _ naming our child Hurricane,” the words tumble out of Lexa’s lips before notices it, before she realizes what she’s saying. She freezes, the lump in her throat making it hard to breathe as she tries to fix it, “I didn’t mean our child, I meant  _ a _ \- a child. No one should name their child that, it’s what I mean.”

Her babbling is cut short by the soft moving of Clarke’s thumb against her knuckles and the knowing smile she shoots her. “We could name it… Olivia, if it’s a girl,” Clarke says in a playful tone, draining all worry from Lexa before she can really consider if they even should be talking baby names at all, “Or maybe Sage. For a boy, I really like Theodore.” Clarke smile grows wide and Lexa mimics it without even thinking, “Little Theo running around, wreaking havoc in our home.”

“I like Theo,” it’s all Lexa can say for a moment, the ease that Clarke manages to settle within her heart mystifying her beyond words. She doesn’t offers her selection of names, knowing they’re very unusual for babies. Clarke would probably say those names make it sound like their baby would be born a eighty year old that spends the entire day knitting. She isn’t ready to hear the words  _ our baby _ said out loud, not when they have so much to figure out. Then Lexa whispers, “ _ Our _ home?”

“Yeah,” Clarke half shrugs, averting her eyes to the table for a moment as if gathering courage to keep talking. Lexa gives her the silence she needs, tightening her grip on her hand ever so slightly, “Maybe in Toronto? Maybe we could find somewhere else.” Clarke meets her gaze and Lexa searches the infinity of her blue eyes for something that tells otherwise, but she finds nothing. She doesn’t find any doubt, any reservation; just the same longing she feels. “I’m not saying it’s something I can do right way, but- I’ve always wanted to live from my art, I could try that. Maybe start teaching.” Lexa lets out a shaky breath as Clarke bites her lip to keep a smile at bay, her anguish still filtering through. “I don’t know, but- We’ll find a way, right?”

“We  _ will _ .” Lexa says, her voice as firm and certain as she can manage with the turmoil of emotions fighting for the upper hand within her. They will find a way to make it work, there’s not a doubtful cell in her body when it comes to that. But there’ll be a time for that - they can enjoy lighter topics for now, “Do you still have room for dessert?”

Clarke’s worry gives way to a childlike excitement, “Damn right, I do!” Lexa doesn’t even have time to tease her about how much of a sweet tooth she is as Clarke all but drags her halfway to the door before realizing they forgot to pay.

Her cheeks are flushed from laughing when they get to the checkout counter. Clarke insists on paying - she asked Lexa out, she’s paying, that’s how they’re doing this - and Lexa doesn’t complain, the feeling of being pampered by a pretty girl stealing her words.

They hold hands on their way back and once again they’re stuffed in Clarke’s coat pocket because they’re both too cold, but too in love to let go of each other’s hand. Lexa hangs both their coats once they’re inside her room and Clarke busies herself skimming the hotel menu kept under the phone, trying to decide between a molten lava cake and caramel pecan sticky buns.

Lexa ends up convincing her to get both.

Eating dessert snuggled up on the couch with a Hallmark movie playing on the background while they share meaningless secrets feel like an impossibility come true. Setting the empty plates on top of whatever Lexa had been working on before only so they could sprawl on the couch and make out makes the entire world disappear.

There’s no rush in their love, there’s no fear of it ending anytime soon. As Clarke sneaks her hand under the sweatshirt she borrowed and giggles when she catches a bit of chocolate the dripped on her chin with her tongue, Lexa is sure nothing will ever be able to bring her down from this high she’s feeling.


	8. december, 26th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been over three entire months since I last updated this fic? Shit. If you follow me on Twitter, you'll know I've been having some health issues that make it harder for me to actually get some decent writing done. With too many meds and physical therapy, I'm getting better, but I can't tell when a bad day will turn into a bad week.
> 
> This is an emotionally heavy chapter, with descriptions of a pretty back panic attack and unhealthy coping mechanisms, namely using sex as comfort. I recommend getting a cuddle buddy and reading with caution if that's something that might make you feel uncomfortable.

**_DECEMBER 26TH_ **

With the windows rolled up and the heat turned on as high as it’d go so they could have a fighting chance against the cold, Lexa almost feels like they could be driving down a highway in the middle of summer.

If she closes her eyes, she can imagine herself with her bare feet up the dashboard - or hanging out the window, or maybe across Clarke’s lap, she can let herself imagine that now -, wearing jeans and a shirt she’d steal from Clarke instead of a dressy blouse and heels. If she focus really hard, she can pretend the hot air blowing through the vents is coming from the rolled down windows, the roaring fields they leave behind as they drive by at ninety miles per hour bringing with them the hot mid afternoon air.

The feeling that hugs her and squeezes her middle like a memory she hasn’t lived yet is entirely Clarke’s fault. She had been the one to suggest they take a road trip down Route 66 in the summer, she’d been the one to run her fingers down Lexa’s curls and say they’d look their best if they were flying behind her as the wind made it hard for them to even keep their eyes open. 

And well, apparently, being Clarke’s girlfriend came with solid plans for the future and some hardcore singing.

" _ And tonight I wanna drive so far we'll only find static on the radio, _ " Clarke sings almost off key, her voice higher and lighter. Lexa doesn’t dare even trying to sing along the words she picked up and butcher what’s clearly a beautiful country song. All she can do is smile like a love sick puppy as Clarke sings with passion, every now and then taking her eyes from the street ahead to sing it  _ to _ Lexa. " _ And we can't see those city lights and I love the way you look in a firefly glow-” _ Clarke meets her eyes at the last verse, making Lexa imagine what Clarke might look like surrounded by fireflies, nudging her thigh as she requests company, “Come on, sing with me."

“I don’t know it,” Lexa sounds apologetic, although she has learned the chorus in the three times Clarke had played that same song in the span of twenty minutes they’ve been driving. Truth be told, she wants Clarke to hold on to the notion Lexa can sing any better than a dying cat for a little longer.

" _ Underneath a harvest moon, standing on your shoes in my bare feet, _ ” Clarke picks up her singing as they stop at a red light, her smile matching Lexa’s as their eyes meet again. It’s painfully clear that Clarke is singing it to Lexa in the way she tilts her head and leans in closer to her, bringing her palm from Lexa’s thigh to lock their fingers together, “ _ Dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeat. _ "

The song comes to an end and Clarke drags out the last verse until she’s nearly breathless. Lexa plants a kiss on the back of her hand, intertwining their fingers more comfortably, “You have a beautiful voice.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re in love with me,” Clarke rolls her eyes and squeezes Lexa’s hand. Hearing Clarke talk about her feelings in such a casual way, almost teasing and literally using it as a reason to discredit her opinion, warms her in ways she didn’t think possible. As Clarke kicks the car into motion again, turning a corner one handed, she all but whines to Lexa. “Come on, what music do you listen to? I wanna sing.”

It takes a moment for Lexa to realize she doesn’t know any song that might have played in the radio in the last decade. She mostly relied on Costia to keep her up to date with whoever the new hot band was, she never had the patience to actually search for it, “I don’t really- I don’t have much time to listen to music,” she shrugs, now really knowing how to help her case. “Mostly I listen to instrumental music. Sometimes opera.”

“Boring,” Clarke drags out the vowels and makes a booing sound. “Let me just- Hold the wheel.” Lexa watches in something akin to panic as Clarke lets go of her hand and the steering wheel the moment they come to another red light, reaching for her phone in the cup holder near the stick shift. Lexa places one hand on the wheel, nothing enough to actually control the car if needed but enough to entertain Clarke’s idea. Clarke connects the aux cord to her phone and browses a few playlists, before tapping a song, “Oh, this one is good.”

Lexa takes her hand from the steering wheel as soon as Clarke puts hers back, glad to have that responsibility taken away from her before the light turned green. She pays attention to the song, more to be polite than to actually try to recall if she knows it or not - she doesn’t. She probably has never heard something as upbeat as this. Lexa shrugs and shakes her head when Clarke looks at her expectantly, “I- I don’t know this one either.”

Clarke’s eyes bulge from their sockets. “Seriously? _Take me back. Give it up, give it up to me,”_ she foregoes the clear scolding about Lexa being a complete duffus when it comes to popular songs, because, apparently, she can’t just _not_ sing the chorus. Clarke keeps both her hands on the wheel as she steps harder on the gas pedal, dancing mostly with her shoulders as she sings out loud, _“'Cause I can't go on if your love isn't strong.”_ Lexa pretends that she isn’t paying attention to the lyrics, but a lump forms in her throat without her consent, _“See, I wanna know._ _Give me, give me all your love. If you can't hold on then baby, baby don't save me now_.” Clarke sings both the overlapping parts and she almost swallows her tongue trying to breathe in and sing at the same time. Lexa chuckles at that, enjoying how comfortable Clarke is near her. “ _If your love isn't strong, baby, don't save me now._ ”

Thinking back to only days ago, Lexa can’t help the pang in her heart with how domestic it all feels. She happily bids farewell to the tentative hand snaking its way up her leg, trying to get more of a reaction from her than the stone wall she never wanted Clarke to break. Now she looks at its ruins with fondness as she sits back and listens to Clarke’s singing. “I’ve never heard it, I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck do you sing in road trips?” Clarke swerves the car until she can half park it in between two others, her tongue peeking in between her teeth as she focus on getting the car parallel to the curb without crashing on anything.

Her girlfriend sucks at parallel parking - Lexa can’t quite tell what makes her smile the most, knowing something like this about Clarke or getting to call her  _ her girlfriend _ . The car is anything but parallel, the back tire pointing out to the street, the front one almost climbing on the sidewalk. Lexa unbuckles as she shrugs, “I’ve never been on a road trip.”

Clarke puts her car on park, muttering a  _ good enough _ about her own poor parking job, and looks at Lexa, her eyes all but bulging from their sockets in surprise. “You  _ never _ \- We have so much to do,” Clarke climbs out of the car and Lexa follows suit, slamming the door behind her the moment Clarke half shouts at her as she walks to meet her in the sidewalk, “Like,  _ so much _ . Road trip really should be number one priority.” 

“Wouldn’t that be a bit boring? Since I apparently don’t know any songs,” Lexa teases and holds out her hand for Clarke to grab, which she does willingly. Their fingers intertwine together on their own accord, as if they were made to be together, and tugs at them until Clarke is flushed against her, “Unless you want to sing to The Beatles. I think I remember some songs from when my mom played it to us.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and chuckles as she shuffles towards Lexa, “Of course you were raised listening to The Beatles,  _ god _ .” It half surprises Lexa to find herself pressed against the outside wall of the restaurant, the icy cold concrete seeping through her layers and Clarke’s warm body keeping her in place. Their hands stay intertwined as Clarke reaches for Lexa’s jaw, still laughing when she presses their lips together, a messy kiss that feels incredibly right, “Okay, so road trip is priority number two now. We’re fixing your ridiculous cultural gap tonight.”

Keeping her eyes closed, Lexa tries to get a grip on herself. She reaches for the lapel of Clarke’s coat to steady herself, not really knowing if she needs to blame the kiss or the cold for her shivering. When she does open her eyes, Clarke has her head tilted, a smile glued to her lips, and Lexa shivers again. “Tonight? What’s happening tonight?”

“A dance party,” Clarke says matter-of-factly, and Lexa bites down her lips to keep her smile at bay. It doesn’t help at all and she allows herself to grin with abandon at the woman she loves making plans for them. “We’ll dance in our underwear until you know all the good road trip songs.” Lexa imagines Clarke in her boy shorts and utilitarian bra holding out her hand for Lexa to take, swaying them around her apartment with only the streetlights keeping them from being in total darkness. She imagines them dancing the more upbeat ones in between art, trying not to knock anything down, and she almost chokes with the knowledge that she’s allowed to imagine all that now. “And country songs, we’re dancing to country songs.”

“Will you stand on my shoes?” Lexa whispers only loud enough for Clarke to hear, peeling herself from the wall and untangling their fingers so she can wrap her arm around Clarke’s waist as they trudge together towards the restaurant.

Clarke mimics the gesture and wraps her arm around Lexa until she can grip her coat, glueing them both on the hip. She turns to place a gentle kiss on the underside of her jaw after they walk through the doors and whispers back, “And dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat, damn right.”

Considering how her heart rate skyrockets at hearing those words, they’ll hardly be able to slow dance to it.

Lexa leans in to press a kiss on Clarke’s lips as they make their way through the restaurant, narrowly avoiding bumping into a table - her attention is focused solely on Clarke, furniture be damned. Clarke pulls them both to the side and breaks the kiss with a laughter, guiding them towards Anya and Raven while Lexa shamelessly kiss the back of her ear. She can  _ feel _ Clarke shivering under her lips and it’s good to know she’s not the only one who’s already dying for this lunch to be over.

She straightens up once they get close enough, a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. Lexa really cannot find it in herself to care about the taunting she’s about to endure from Anya, she’s too happy to do anything but take it willingly. Meeting Anya’s gaze still very much wrapped around Clarke, Lexa says in a teasing voice she’s aware she hasn’t used in years, “Hey, fancy seeing you here. Is this your lady?”

Anya frowns at Lexa but smiles nonetheless. Lexa half wants to hide her face, wants to keep it from the world how happy she is, but all she does is lean in impossibly closer to Clarke as Lexa introduces her, “Raven, this is Lexa. I think you saw her in passing at the firm.” It’s rude that they have never met, to say the least. But in Anya’s defense, Lexa had buried herself in work in these last months, trying to keep a certain blonde away from her thoughts. So even if Anya had had any intention to introducing them before, no one would have enjoyed her then. Then Anya waves at their general direction, “And the thing attached to her is Clarke.”

“Nice to meet you two,” Raven says in an amused voice, clearly studying them as they take their seats across from them. Clarke takes Lexa’s coat and drapes it over the back of her chair as she seats, placing a kiss at the top of her head before she herself seats down beside her. The little details - the kiss, how her hand brushes the back of her neck, the way Clarke scoots her chair slightly closer to her - makes Lexa’s heart threaten to burst. “You two really  _ are _ a gross couple in love, aren’t you? Disgusting.” Raven makes a face at them that is mimicked on Anya’s features as she stage whispers  _ “see, I told you _ ” loud enough for everyone to hear. “How are you like this almost a year into a relationship? It’s been four months and I can’t take this one anymore.” 

Clarke mindlessly throws an arm over Lexa’s shoulder, chuckling lightly at Raven’s teasing and pointedly leaning closer to Lexa. It feels natural. It feels only right for Clarke to wrap Lexa in her arms like this, it really feels like they’ve been doing this for the best part of the last year. “And you thought you could beat us in this. Like, bitch,  _ please, _ ” Clarke says as she throws a smirk towards Anya, rolling her eyes playfully.

Smiling at the playful banter between her girlfriend - her mind spins when she as much as  _ think _ of calling Clarke that - and her best friend, Lexa rests her hand on Clarke’s leg, right above her knee, gripping it lightly as her thumb draws lazy circles on the tight clad skin. It’s far from sexual, it’s a far cry from how they’d touch a few days ago. It’s simply a way to keep Clarke close, to ground herself. She leans in and nuzzles her nose in the dip behind Clarke’s ear, breathing her in through the mist of her perfume.

“This is nice.” Lexa presses a kiss to the curve of her jaw, lingering a moment too long. Being able to do that and actually mean it, both of them knowing it's not an act, feels freeing. Suddenly aware of the company they're having for lunch, Lexa puts some distance in between them as she turns to face Anya. Her hand stays on Clarke’s thigh, “Did you order anything already?”

Raven snorts into her water and it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s making fun of them. Lexa can’t quite find it in herself to be offended that Raven, the woman she’s been formerly introduced to less than five minutes ago, is already teasing her  _ and _ her girlfriend - not when Clarke has her fingers wrapping around the fine hair at the nape of her neck, her nails scraping lightly against her scalp. 

The world could fall apart and all she’d think to do is lean in further into her touch 

“Just wine,” Anya answers with a tilt of her chin towards their glasses and Lexa nods, reaching for the wine menu. She ignores Anya’s pointed glare, pretending to read each and every kind of wine the restaurant serves as if she doesn’t have a favorite. Her hand burns on Clarke’s thigh as she slides it up and down a few inches in a light caress, and Clarke responds in kind with a light tugging at her hair. “But before we jump into lunch, I need to-” Anya reaches behind her, drawing her tablet from her bag and waking it up with a touch, quickly finding what she needs as she speaks, “Ugh, did you get the email Chadbourne & Parke sent us about that fucking bastard O’Connor case?”

“No, I- I didn’t check my email today.” It comes a surprise even to Lexa herself as she realizes that between morning sex and post breakfast cuddles, she hasn't touched her phone at all day. Ever since she started college, checking her inbox and answering urgent matters had always been the first thing on her to do list at any given day. Anya knows her ritual, having crashed at her place enough times to pick up how her morning coffee came with fingers quickly tapping answers away. Anya knows it and doesn't hide her shock, eyebrows going up to her hairline as she takes a sip from her drink. 

Anya only takes her judgmental glare away from Lexa when she gets a napkin thrown on her face, “It took you two entire minutes to start talking business,” Raven whines and Lexa can almost say it's a sore spot for them. She half wonders if she and Clarke will argue about it too as the honeymoon phase slowly goes away and the day-to-day responsibilities overwhelm them both. And Lexa realizes she can't wait for them to fight over ordinary things like any ordinary couple would. Raven waves them away with clear disinterest, “You keep talking, I’ll bond with Clarke over how terrible girlfriends you two are.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m perfectly content with mine,” Clarke says without ever taking her eyes off Lexa, who can't do much besides swallow back the butterflies that come to life in her stomach and lean into the kiss when Clarke pulls her in. Their lips meet and Lexa can't hear any of the very vocal complaints coming from the other side of the table, can't feel anything but how soft Clarke’s lips are under hers, can only taste Clarke, Clarke,  _ Clarke. _

Anya makes gagging sounds that are uncannily close to the real thing, way too close for the nice restaurant they find themselves in and Raven draws out an  _ ew _ in pure disgust until they break the kiss. Lexa could almost say they're made for each other, but she's currently too embarrassed to verbalize anything of the sort. Raven sits back with her shoulders set straighter than they should be and reaches for her wine, sipping at it politely before saying in a well mannered tone, “Gross.” Lexa decides she likes the woman. Raven seems like a good match for Anya, with her sassy answer and quick wit. 

Despite being called out for all the public displays of affection they're so freely giving, neither woman moves for a moment, their eyes locked together, lost in a world of their own. Lexa chuckles at the same time Clarke does, feeling the unfamiliar thrill of being so in love it actually bothers other people. She leans in ever so slightly when Clarke tugs at the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, grips her thigh a little harder when her eyes shine, the golden freckles dancing in that deep blue sea, smiles wider to match Clarke’s grin. Clarke is the sun, chasing away the darkness, and Lexa is merely a planet orbiting it, craving its warmth and protection. 

Anya draws her attention back to her as she not so discreetly all but tosses her tablet at Lexa. It lands on top of her napkin and Clarke snorts, which only makes Lexa gives her her undivided attention once more. Clarke is the one to pick up the tablet and hand it back to Anya before turning to Lexa and calling her  _ babe _ , telling her to discuss matters with Anya. It's hard to turn her eyes to another simple planet when the sun has her wrapped around her arms.

They decide to place their orders before diving into whatever email Anya wants to discuss so urgently. It tugs oddly at Lexa’s stomach the way she finds herself wishing they could leave work for later, wishing they would focus on the beautiful women accompanying them to lunch instead. But Anya insists in having Lexa’s opinion before answering the email herself and Raven frowns at that, giving them until the food gets to their table for them to get all their business talk sorted.

Clarke chuckles at Raven’s serious tone and tugs at Lexa’s hair teasingly, scrapes her nails down the column of her neck, top of her back, dip of her shoulder. Lexa has to fight back the shivers that the touch urges from her, straightening her spine and clutching her jaw hard enough to be sure her teeth would crack. It’s  _ mean _ and the satisfied smirk on Clarke’s lips tells Lexa she knows very well what she’s doing. All Lexa can do is tighten her grip on Clarke’s thigh as a warning, but Clarke expertly removes her hand from her thigh and places it back on Lexa’s lap, crossing her legs away from her touch and giving her unwavering attention to Raven.

_ Maybe _ the sexual touches and public teasing aren’t all gone after all.

Lexa forces herself to focus on the tablet Anya is handing back to her, reading through a couple of emails before digging out her phone and pulling up her own notes on the case, once again grateful for syncing her files across multiple devices. She remembers that case, she remembers going to court as Anya’s second chair in a few occasions, she definitely remembers kicking it back with a bottle of wine and her laptop, writing up more than a few pages worth of notes as a way to relax on a Friday night - something Clarke must never know or she’ll honestly never live it down.

They put their heads together and discuss in hushed tones, trying to pinpoint what exactly drove their client to reopen the case and go against them. They argue over what a term might mean and the intricate details of a paragraph that make it more confusing than actually telling, fully enthralled in the how's and what's from law they both love so much. This is what Lexa enjoys the most about big cases like this one: working alongside with Anya or Gustus and watching their ideas unfolding together almost effortlessly.

Lexa is fully immersed in their conversation, having long muted their girlfriends chatting to a quiet, distant humming, when Clarke slips her hand in between her thighs with no forewarning. Lexa squirms and jumps at the icy palm pressing against her warm inner thigh, nearly knocking over her wine. Clarke pouts, jutting her bottom lip out just enough for Lexa to want to reach out and take it between her own lips, and mouths “ _ cold hands _ ” in lieu of an apology, almost as if she just wanted Lexa’s warmth and didn’t mean to bother her at all.

Urging Anya to keep talking, as her jolting had cut her line of thought, Lexa takes Clarke’s hand in between hers, rubbing her palms on it to warm it up. Anya rolls her eyes so hard Lexa worries they might get stuck before picking up where she had paused, moving along with her ideas to rebuke the claims O’Connor’s lawyers were making. She never quite lets go of Clarke’s hand, even after it grows warm enough for her to snuggle it in between her thighs again, even when she needs to grab the tablet to search for some file they were missing.

This, right here, is everything she thought she’d never have, everything she thought to have buried along with Costia.

She pays less and less attention to Anya as the minutes tick by, every now and then darting her eyes to find Clarke’s, catching a sentence or two that makes her want to join in the conversation, drifting closer every time Clarke laughs as if it’s gravity pulling her towards her. Anya snaps at her more than once to get her attention back, and Lexa does turn back, does try to pretend Clarke isn’t the only thing she wants to focus on - even if she’s talking to Raven, Lexa would be happy to just sit there, hold Clarke’s hand in between hers and watch her talk about how much better Di Fara’s pizza is than the one at Prince Street.

“Give me your other hand,” Lexa whispers, leaning in close enough to Clarke to press a kiss on her cheek. Clarke abides immediately, taking her hand from Lexa’s grip and shoving it in between her thighs to keep it warm before reaching out awkwardly with the other one. Lexa takes the freezing hand in between her palms, wondering how did Clarke even manage to get that cold, and turns to Anya again, only to see her putting her tablet away and tapping away on her phone. “What are you doing? We’re not done.”

“I don’t trust your judgment when you’re more interested in gazing into your girlfriend’s eyes than in practicing law,” Lexa can almost taste the hint of disappointment, but Anya keep her tone neutral and her eyes glued to her phone screen. Lexa intertwine her fingers with Clarke’s, running her palm up and down the back of her hand as Anya puts her phone away as well, before meeting Lexa’s eyes, “I don’t mean that as a bad thing. This is clearly not the place to discuss this, anyway. I sent everything on your email, including our new notes. We can go over it later.”

Breaking their conversation, Clarke leans in and presses a kiss on the underside of Lexa’s jaw, “Does that mean I have you all to myself again?” Clarke’s voice is barely a whisper and Lexa finds herself smiling before she even realizes it. Lexa hums in agreement, tightening her grip on their linked hands and reaching out to bring Clarke to a kiss.

“Oh god, I won’t make it through an entire hour of  _ that _ ,” Anya whines and they break apart, both smiling more than they should. Anya does have her arm thrown over Raven’s shoulders, so it’s not like she has any high ground to stand on, but Lexa finds it in herself to look sheepishly at being called out again. “You weren’t this gross on Christmas Eve, what the fuck happened yesterday?”

“Don’t answer that!” Raven yelps and three pairs of eyes turn to her, in various degrees of bulging from their sockets in surprise. “We do not know each other that well, I’m fine not knowing whatever tantric sex you two had to make-” she gestures wildly towards their general direction, “-this happen.” 

Anya snorts in laughter and Clarke settles against the crook of Lexa’s neck to let out a soft laugh, kissing her shoulder before straightening up. It's such a tender gesture Lexa can’t look away - she locks her eyes with Clarke, letting the pure joy in that blue ocean carry her safely to shore, knowing it's all she needs to be okay. Somehow, it looks like the tiniest golden freckles shine brighter than they did before, swimming in a deeper blue than Lexa is used to - Clarke is happy. Clarke is genuinely happy and Lexa feels the air being knocked out of her at the thought that  _ she _ is the reason for that.

She snaps out of her reverie when Raven grunts and throws her phone on the table, the sound of it bouncing off the hard surface disrupting the enamored bubble Clarke and Lexa had found themselves in. “My fucking ex is trying to be friends after we’ve been broken up for three entire years,” Raven sounds more than a little frustrated, her voice lowering to a mocking tone in the word  _ friends _ , and Lexa almost visibly winces at it.  “After we almost killed each other. I mean, that ship has fucking sailed, buddy.” A humorless laughter fill the awkward silence that follows, Raven shutting her eyes closed in a grimace at the memories.

Lexa doesn’t really  _ have _ an ex, her only past girlfriend doesn’t really count  as an ex that would give her any trouble, but she can imagine this is anything but pleasant. The mere idea of someone she loved and opened up to and gave herself fully to cutting her so deeply she still has the barely healed wound three years later seems too much to handle. 

Somehow, Lexa finds calm in the storm that thinking about Costia always leaves her in the middle of.

Anya squares her jaw, muscles working under the tight clench of her teeth - she cares fiercely about Raven, that much is clear. “Do you want me to kill him? Because I know people,” her tone is measured and low, a promise lying underneath it, but it only causes Raven to fall back to her breeze self, laughter echoing from her chest as she slaps Anya’s leg, breathing out something akin to ‘ _ oh my god _ ’.

It’s enough to lighten the mood. Lexa leans in, tugging at Clarke’s hand to call her attention. “The worst part is that she’s serious about that,” she says in a stage whisper, side eyeing Anya who gives her a dirty look, and Clarke laughs. Knowing that  _ she _ put that gleeful smile on Clarke’s face makes Lexa want to go find the tallest building in New York and scream it for everyone to hear. Screw being a successful lawyer,  _ that _ is her biggest accomplishment.

Raven peels herself away from Anya, taking a measured gulp from her wine as if forcing herself not to ask for something stronger. “Clarke, maybe you’ve heard about him,” Raven starts after setting down her wine and making way for the waiter to set down her food. Lexa pays half a mind to Raven, quickly realizing she’s starving once the waiter brings her her broccoli cream. They had ordered breakfast but got sidetracked when the warm chocolate filling of Clarke’s croissant had drizzled to her cleavage. “He’s pretty well known in the art community. He’s a productor and director for 4th Row Films.”

Clarke peels her hand from Lexa’s grasp, wiggling her fingers free, and Lexa smiles into her bowl as she takes a spoonful from the steaming soup. The broccoli is cheesy and creamy and it fits the cold outside so well Lexa can swear it warms her heart as well as her stomach - she should have guessed she’d become cheesier than this goddamn soup once she admits she’s in love, but it still surprises her.

She lets her hand fall on top of Clarke’s thigh, not quite willing to part her grasp on her girlfriend quite yet. Lexa vaguely sees her reaching for the cutlery, too focused on her own meal to see much more than what her peripheral vision allows her to. But the moment Clarke speaks, her voice cracking at the edges in a way that reminds her too much of thin ice breaking under dainty footsteps, the soups becomes almost sour in her mouth as Lexa forces herself to swallow, “Wha- What’s his name?”

“Collins,” Raven spits the name with disgust and Lexa sets down her spoon. An invisible fist tightens around her throat at how still Clarke goes under her palm, how her face pales ever so slightly, how her throat bobs up and down at her constant swallowing.

“ _ Finn _ Collins?” Her voice shakes terribly and Lexa presses her hand higher on Clarke’s thigh, as if she’s trying to keep the ice from shattering underneath her feet and cold water from swallowing them whole.

Lexa darts her eyes to the other occupants of the table, apparently blissfully unaware of how a single name is sending Clarke back in time. Anya is way too entertained by her salmon cream cheese bruschetta to pay more than one third of attention to what’s happening beside her, and Raven just shoves a tomato in her mouth, waving her fork in agreement, “That’s the bastard.”

Clarke’s breathing is altogether measured and raggedy, too shallow to get any oxygen in her lungs and even enough to be mistaken by calm. Lexa turns her full attention to Clarke now, the grip on her thigh becoming almost vicious as she tried to get Clarke to even look at her, “Is everything okay?”

Her gaze stays fixed on the wall above Raven’s shoulder, as if the Victorian wallpaper is the most interesting thing she has ever seen. Lexa tries to be discreet about it and reaches for Clarke’s hand once again, but it’s out of her reach before she can grasp it. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just- I know him. That’s all.” Her voice is cold and calm, and it almost scares Lexa.

Anya snaps up at that, talking around the bread in her mouth, “Was he a dick to you too?”

Pulling her hands onto her lap and fighting the loss she feels, Lexa watches Clarke nodding - once, slowly, just a nudge of her chin downwards - almost as if disconnected from herself. She sits ramrod straight, hands folded on her lap in the same way Lexa’s are, the muscles lining her jaw all but visible when she clenches her teeth together. Lexa feels a headache wrapping its tendrils around her brain as she tries to keep the fury of a thousand gods from ripping her chest apart - if the mere  _ mention _ of someone else makes Clarke hold herself like that, Lexa isn’t above joining Anya in that murderous plan of hers.

Lexa blinks slowly, trying to keep the way Clarke is from scorching her mind. “What did he do to you?” Lexa’s voice is barely the ghost of a whisper, threatening to choke up under the weight of her defensiveness.

When Clarke only works her jaw until she’s not crunching her teeth to the breaking point in lieu of an answer, Raven realizes it could be directed to her as well. “Oh, the same ol’ story. High school sweethearts that fell apart because of a whore. An actual, paid whore, not just a slut.” The slur burns Lexa’s throat in the same way cheap vodka would, leaving a bitter taste behind as her stomach churns with the guilt that makes her breath catch. Such a gut reaction surprises Lexa, but the memory of those same words leaving her mouth, those same words being directed to Clarke herself fills her mind and she squirms in shame. She forces herself to focus back on Raven again, who doesn’t seem to notice the way Lexa reacts or the way Clarke flinches at her words, “He had a fucking affair with a hooker. It wasn’t a one time thing, he saw the bitch for  _ months _ behind my back. I had go to the midwest for like three weeks-”

“A detail worth mentioning: she went to fix something in the fucking rocket launch in there,” Anya waves her bruschetta in the air, her smile matching the proud tone of her voice. Lexa peels her eyes from Clarke, barely managing to force a smile at Anya’s expression. Lexa hasn’t really seen her shining like this since she won her first big case - Raven really is good for her. “My girlfriend is a rocket scientist. Top  _ that _ , Lex.”

Lexa averts her gaze when Anya dips her head to meet Raven’s lips in a soft kiss -  _ soft _ is hardly a word she’d normally associate with Anya, but it fits her well at the moment. She turns to Clarke, to try to work her way inside the walls she’s so quickly building up around herself in the few moments before Raven starts talking again. 

Clarke has a loose grip on her fork, letting it hover above her food without touching it - she’s not eating,  _ she’s not eating _ \- and her eyes are glued to the glass of water sitting in front of her plate. Lexa can just make out her glossy gaze, as if her mind is too full for her brain to remember how to keep her sight focused, and she reaches out for Clarke, pausing mid air for a moment before finding her hand. She wraps her hand around Clarke’s, her palm against the back of her hand, the pads of her fingers touching the inside of her palm - it’s not quite their usual way of holding hands, but Lexa tries to squeeze some comfort into the touch.

Clarke pulls her hand from Lexa’s grasp with such desperation that Lexa almost thinks she got burned somehow.

“Anyway,” Raven picks up the conversation again and Lexa swallows past the fist wrapped around the base of her throat, all but blocking her airways. She lets her hand fall limp on her lap, feeling every inch that of skin was just touching Clarke tingling uncomfortably, and looks at Raven as she tries her mightest to keep her face straight. “And when I come back, I caught them in his office. It was so fucking clear he had fallen for her that I-” Raven cuts her speech to take a sharp deep breath in and Lexa mimics her without realizing, shielding herself for what is to come. “I was blind with rage when I left and I didn’t look, I got into an accident and, well, that’s why I wear this sexy thing.” She taps at her brace and for a moment, the sound of nails against hard plastic is all Lexa hears. Anya had told her about Raven having a bad leg before, but never mentioned how she got it. “We fought  _ so much _ after we broke up and he kept saying that had ended things with the hooker because he loved  _ me _ , not her and all that bullshit. And now he wants to be  _ friends _ . As if I don’t have a constant reminder of how shitty it all turned out.”

Raven reaches for her wine, gulping down everything in her glass in one swoop, before turning her phone off and shoving it in her bag. Lexa watches her movements without really registering anything, a numbness creeping up her back and sending her into a stupor. She doesn’t comment on Raven’s story, barely registers that she had finished it at all.

It is a sad story, sure. But all Lexa can do is worry about Clarke.

She ventures a look at Clarke, trying to be discreet about it, trying to keep hands to herself even if all she wants it to reach out, to cup Clarke’s cheeks and soothe the hard lines in between her brows, kiss away the distress in her downturned tips. But Lexa resigns herself to searching for Clarke’s eyes, only to find them glued to her plate, without any intention of meeting hers. Lexa finds herself cursing every god she can think of - among all the nearly infinite ways to break up with a significant other, among all the topics they could have landed, what are the goddamn odds that  _ this one _ would come up during lunch? 

Anya throws her arm around Raven’s shoulders again, squeezing her arm as she says in a worried tone, “I thought you had blocked his number though.”

“I  _ did _ , he keeps calling me from burner phones,” Raven grunts out an answer, running her fingers through her loose locks, pulling them away from her face. Lexa tries her best to focus on her, all but repeating the words back to herself, and convince herself Clarke is fine, she doesn’t need to be coddled like a baby. “I’ve been screening calls from numbers I don’t know but man, I have a job that doesn’t really let me do that.”

_ Fuck _ \- she wants to wrap her arms around Clarke, to tug her close and shield her from whatever the voice inside her head is convincing her of. But Clarke made it crystal clear that she doesn’t want to be touched, and Lexa respects that. Even if it kills her a little to see the way Clarke’s throat bobs up and down every few seconds. Instead, she falls back into her professional self, finding comfort in the words that feel more like a safety net than anything else, “You should look into getting a restraining order. That’s clear harassment, I’m sure we could work something out.”

Anya agrees fervorously, nodding almost with her whole body as she chews a bruschetta - oh, right, they were supposed to be eating. “I told her that already.”

“Ugh, lawyers,” Raven whines and rolls her eyes theatrically. Lexa almost finds it within her to laugh, but not quite, “I don’t wanna drag this. He’ll tire out eventually, I’ve dealt with him for long enough to know he’s bound to give up soon.” Relief floods Lexa when she realizes the subject is dying down and she picks up her spoon again, scooping up some more of her broccoli cream before it goes cold as Raven finishes talking, “Maybe things didn’t work out with his whore and he’s just horny again.”

"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom," Clarke blurts out and all but sprints away from their table, tossing her napkin on top of her mixed greens without looking. Her steps are long and fast as she makes her way to the back of the restaurant, only barely shy from actually running away.

Two equally confused faces stare at her - Anya with her bruschetta halfway to her mouth, Raven chewing in slow motion - and Lexa wishes she could say she’s as confused as they are. She sets down her napkin, struggling to push her chair back as if it weighed five thousand pounds, “I’ll go see what’s wrong”

“Having sex in a public bathroom?” Anya calls out once the shock of Clarke’s abrupt exit washes past her, “I didn’t think you had it in you, Lex.” Lexa doesn’t do much but roll her eyes, more to Anya’s benefit than hers, and sprints to the restroom. Usually, she’d make some shushing noise to Anya and  _ oh my god, we’re in public _ sort of reproach, but she can’t bother with any or their usual banter when her worry for Clarke grows with each step she takes down the hallway.

Announcing herself with a soft knock on the door, Lexa stops for a moment and listens out for a sign that she shouldn’t come in - a shout, an explicit command for her not to enter would stop her, but not much else - before walking into the restroom and shutting the door behind her. She holds onto the handle with too much force for a beat too long, trying to steel herself as she takes in the scene before her.

Clarke is leaning heavily against the sink, knuckles flashing white as she tightens her grip on the edge, her head hanging low in between her bunched up shoulders. Water drips from her forearms, tiny droplets falling to the sink, to the floor, to the top of her shoes while Clarke remains unbothered by it, apparently too focused on forcing air into her lungs to care about damaging her shoes. Her breath is hard yet shallow, each exhale more forceful than the inhale before, her chest rising and falling without a proper rhythm. 

Lexa isn’t a physical person - has never been. The mere thought of touching someone, either as a sign of affection or to comfort them, had caused her shivers for years on end. She prefers to keep her distance, there’s nothing wrong with it. But this is Clarke - for goodness sake, it’s  _ Clarke _ . So when a trembling sob leaves her throat, bounces off walls and lands sharp as a knife on Lexa’s chest, cutting through flesh and bone, Lexa doesn’t even register her movements until she’s standing right beside Clarke.

Lexa brings her hand up to brush blonde hair behind tiny ears, ready to cup a flushed cheek and dig her way through her pain, to comfort her in any way she can. But Clarke squirms away from her touch, shields herself with a raised arm, puts more distance between them than Lexa can ever remember having, “No, don’t touch me. Just-” Clarke takes a sharp breath in, gritting her teeth as she looks everywhere but at Lexa, “Just give me some space. I’m- I’m fine.”

It burns her like scorching metal pressed against her ribcage, but she swallows her hurt pride, wraps her arms around her waist to keep it down. Lexa doesn’t say anything else, forcing herself to stay back as Clarke goes through the motions of meticulously washing her hands, soaping them twice, running them under water for much longer than necessary, patting them completely dry even if it takes too many paper towels.

By the time Clarke had finished drying her palms, the back of her hand, her forearms, her fingers and in between them, her breath had become more even - not much, not even enough for her to be what Lexa would call calmer, but enough. Lexa tightens her arms around her own waist, forcing them to remain still as she waits for Clarke to say something. She hasn’t told her to leave yet, which Lexa is willing to consider a success, but Clarke needs to give her something other than this cool exterior to convince her that she is fine.

So Lexa watches. Clarke paces back and forth for a few moments - two steps to one side, two to the other direction - while forcing herself to take deep breaths, the force of them turning each inhale into something ragged, that catches in her throat as if unwilling to go into her body, each exhale into a too quick breath. It’s still heart wrenching to see Clarke fight her anxiety in what seems to be a losing battle, but Lexa can’t afford to be shut down again and have her own walls rising against her will.

When Clarke stops her pacing, she’s standing across the room from Lexa - it’s not much, the restroom isn’t all that big to begin with, but it seems like she’ll never be able to touch Clarke again. Her stand is almost as defensive as Lexa’s. Clarke has her arms folded against her chest, her hands gripping her own forearms, her shoulders hunched over and she bites down on her bottom lip so hard Lexa worries for a moment that it might break the skin.

But she meets Lexa’s eyes for the first time since she walked in here.

Even in the distance, Lexa can see Clarke’s deep blue eyes shining with unshed tears - tears she’s probably trying to choke back, fight back into her tear ducts, make it go anywhere but down her cheeks.

“I’m the hooker Raven caught kissing her boyfriend,” her voice is tiny, but her words are clear and sharp, “I’m the bitch that broke them apart.”

Whatever words Lexa expected to hear, whatever story she had been bracing herself to work through,  _ that _ hadn’t crossed her mind. It was obvious that Raven’s story had stirred something in Clarke and Lexa had a dozen explanations as to why it would have upset Clarke - the slurs she had used, escorts being blamed for ending a relationship when the ex-boyfriend was to blame, the fact that escorts was even a topic of conversation at all - but none of them had even come close to this.

“Clarke- what-” Lexa chokes out a half answer, taking a step closer to Clarke - maybe she could hear her better if she were close to Clarke, and if she were close to Clarke maybe this wouldn’t be true.

Clarke lets out a self deprecating laughter, the kind that leaves a bitter taste lingering in the tongue and a hollowness under the breast bone. “Remember that client I fell in love with? It was Finn,” she shakes her head as her laughter dies down, a stubborn tear falling down her cheek. Lexa takes another step as Clarke wipes the tear away with all the anger she can manage. She takes another and one more, until Clarke is within reach, until she could easily wrap her in her arms. Lexa doesn’t, but Clarke doesn’t coils away from their proximity. Clarke purses her lips and rolls her eyes, another tear falling down as she cracks through her next words, “I broke them and he broke me.”

All the air leaves Lexa’s lungs as she tries her best to shove down whatever visceral emotions threatening to eat at her. This isn’t about her. She reaches out, slowly, tentatively, curling a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Clarke,” her voice is soft and filled with a defensiveness she didn’t think she could feel. At the sound of her name, Clarke crumbles. She leans into the touch and that’s enough for Lexa to wrap an arm around her waist and bring her into a hug. Clarke sinks into the embrace, clutching at Lexa’s back with deft fingers, breathing out in shaky gasps. “I’m sorry, Clarke,” Lexa murmurs into Clarke’s hair, tightening her hug as Clarke’s breath slowly evens out. “We can leave if you want. I’ll make our excuses and-”

“No, it’s fine,” her voice shakes with each word, but Clarke doesn’t take the out Lexa gives her. “I’m fine,” she says forcefully and buries her face in the crook of Lexa’s neck, breathing her in. As selfish as it is, Lexa can’t help but sink into her touch and be glad that she can comfort her at all, “It caught me by surprise, that’s all. I never knew who his girlfriend was and-” Clarke breathes in sharply and shakes her head, pulling away slightly so she can look at Lexa, who fiercely pretends not to see the tears brimming her eyes, “I just need to keep the conversation away from him.”

“It’s done,” Lexa promises and presses her lips to Clarke’s temple, lingering a moment longer before she pulls back to brush Clarke’s hair from behind her ear, making it frame her face in a way that hides her splotchy cheeks. “Are you sure you’re okay to go back?” Clarke nods in answer and Lexa swipes her fingertips under her eyes to wipe away any trace of tears. “Okay. Okay then. But- just say the word and we leave. Okay?”

Clarke nods as she untangles herself from Lexa’s arms, her jaw clenched and lips tight. Lexa bites down on her bottom lip, pulling at it harder enough to keep herself from spilling out all the words she wants to say, all the words Clarke doesn’t seem to need. 

They walk back to their table in silence, each keeping to their side of the hallway. Lexa sneaks a worried glance towards Clarke every few steps, studying the way she carries herself - her shoulders are squared back and tight, eyes focused straight ahead, lips curling in a frown. For a moment, Lexa worries Clarke will grind her teeth to powder with how hard she’s still clenching her jaw, but they meet Anya’s amused grin before she can say anything.

“So, how was your first time coming in a public bathroom, Lex?” Anya gets punched on the arm the moment the words leave her mouth, which doesn’t keep her from chuckling when Lexa blushes. Raven seems to be much more keen to picking up details like Clarke’s tear stained cheeks and her ramrod straight back, and Lexa trusts the woman to keep Anya in check for the rest of the meal.

Their main course arrives nearly at the same time they do and Lexa gladly focuses all her attention on her chicken as Anya babbles on about the reasons and means she kept Raven completely hidden. Lexa tries to listen to her, nodding and making agreeing noises around her mouthful, but by the end of the meal, she can’t retell a word of their conversation. All she can think about is how quiet Clarke has been, not even bothering with pretending she’d been listening at all as she chopped her steak into neat cubes and organized her steamed vegetables by colors and then by size, never once taking a bite. 

Lexa makes their excuses before dessert, despite Raven’s enthusiastic claims of how  _ divine _ their petit gateau is - she could hardly force herself to finish half her meal, she can’t imagine forcing a gooey chocolate dessert down the knot in her throat. 

Clarke is pleasant all through their goodbyes, hugging everyone and assuring that they must make double dates like this a regular thing for them, whenever they’re in New York, absolutely. Raven invites her up to Toronto to check the rocket model she’s been working on, the one she talked about in vivid details but Lexa can’t even recall how they landed in that topic. When Anya envelops Lexa in a tight hug, she asks if everything is okay and Lexa can’t bring herself to do anything other than nod, but a single glance towards Clarke could tell things are a far cry from okay.

They don’t hold hands on their way out. It feels odd, not to have Clarke’s fingers around hers, or her arms around her waist, or her palm pressing against her lower back. It’s been a week - Lexa knows it, in a rational level, even if it feels like they’ve been walking around holding hands for the better part of her life - but she’s so grown used to be touching Clarke at all times that she feels colder than the weather outside would justify.

Climbing into the car, Lexa weighs her options as she watches Clarke slow her pace before making all the way around to the driver’s side, coming to a complete stop when her hand grabs the handle. Clarke stays there for a few excruciatingly long seconds, eyes closed and chest heaving, but she doesn’t say a word when she finally settles into her seat and pulls the car off the curb.

Lexa could let it go. It seems like the safest option, if not the smartest one - she  _ could _ pretend whatever happened in Clarke’s past doesn’t affect them, that this Finn guy couldn’t touch them once they were alone. But Clarke’s white knuckled grip on the steering wheel tells Lexa that she couldn’t erase Clarke’s ghosts anymore than she could erase her own.

“Do you want to stop by that food truck you like?” Lexa says, her quiet voice sounding too loud for the heavy silence weighing down on them. Clarke had mentioned a place that made the most obscene hot dog in New York, complete with bacon, cheddar and even some sort of vinaigrette, that always lifted her spirits when she was feeling down. But Clarke only tightens her grip so much Lexa worries she’ll break the wheel altogether and purses her lips to a thin line, leaving Lexa to try to explain herself without aggravating her more, “You didn’t eat anyth-”

“I’m fine,” Clarke cuts her mid word, her voice sharp and jabbing. Lexa nods once, turning her attention to the road once watching Clarke fiercely refusing to meet gaze gets too overwhelming. She aches to go back to hearing Clarke singing along the radio, barely bothering to carry a tune, too busy smiling and taunting Lexa to care. The silence gnaws at Lexa’s chest and she reaches out for the radio, hoping whatever song is playing will get them to her hotel room without her making things worse. But the moment her fingers touch the dial, Clarke’s sharp tone halts her movements, “Please, don’t.”

The words cut deep. Lexa pulls her hand back fast, like she had stuck it into hot fire without realizing, and sets it down on her lap, wriggling her fingers together. She looks at Clarke, taking in the hard set of her jaw and her unwavering stare at the road ahead, and bites her cheek to keep herself from saying something stupid. They’ll make the drive in uncomfortably heavy silence, apparently. Lexa sinks into her seat, turning her head to the side until she can focus on the buildings that go by faster than she can register them, on the people hunching over trying to stay warm as they make their way through the white blanket that had fallen overnight, on anything other than Clarke.

There’s a reason she’s been single for the better part of the last decade and while she’ll try to convince anyone that it’s because she’s too focused on her career to even bother going out, the truth is much uglier - she doesn’t know how to weave her way through a relationship. It’s a hard pill to swallow but Lexa had made her peace with it, had learned to accept she doesn’t know how to navigate the hidden words a meaningful look can muster or the fine nuances of a familiar gesture. She likes to keep things sharp and clear, not in a mist of emotions where words never carry the whole truth.

Things had been  _ easy _ with Costia, from the moment they stumbled back to their floor in a drunken haze, talking about things that were too big, trying to embrace them anyway. It had been easy to accommodate her bitter mood around exam season and how she always stole Lexa’s shampoo, it had felt natural to let things go and swallow her pride in fights, to apologize for things that weren’t her fault just so they could cuddle without any foul taste to it. It had been simple, like things that are meant to be usually are.

She had grown hard after Costia, her tall walls almost impossible to climb, too set in her own ways to make room for anyone else. Whatever relationship Lexa had tried to build in the years when she still had hopes of finding love again ended before they started, for reasons that made no sense for anyone else but her - they didn’t like her favorite wine or maybe they laughter reminded her too much of Costia’s for comfort.

Deep inside, Lexa worried that Clarke would soon follow the same path, that in a few months time she would have to look back and call this a  _ fling _ , something she couldn’t find it in her to make last. But none of the women she had taken for one single date before sending them packing home had ignited the fire within Lexa that Clarke had, that desire to make things work, that ache to be the same soft hearted girl that fell in love between dinner dates consisting of cheap wine, cheaper ramen and trying to put the grandness of the universe into words.

As Clarke parks in front of her building, unbuckling her seatbelt so harshly the latch knocked on the closed window, Lexa vows to herself that she won’t grow hard - not again, not after letting someone in after years of solitude and loneliness. They’ll make it work.

The cold winter winds hit her hard enough that she wishes she didn’t have to climb out of the warm car, her face stinging as her hair whips behind her. Her eyes find Clarke waiting for her on the sidewalk, her arms folded tightly on her chest, shielding herself from the cold. Lexa thinks about wrapping an arm around Clarke’s waist, pulling her close as they make their way up to her room, trying to share whatever warmth she has. But she quickly decides against it. Clarke hadn’t simply dropped her off and driven back to her apartment before Lexa could even say goodbye, she better not push her luck.

Following Clarke into the lobby, trying to match her wide steps towards the elevator, Lexa barely has time to appreciate the warmth welcoming her into the building, the heater going on so strong she feels her fingertips prickling as they warm up. Clarke nearly punches the button for Lexa’s floor and lets out a heavy sigh as she leans heavily against the wall, arms still crossed over her chest, a clear sign that her shields are up and Lexa shouldn’t even try to break through them. She doesn’t. 

Instead, Lexa lets her mind wander as she watches the numbers changing as they ride up the building. She allows herself to imagine a different lunch, where Clarke genuinely enjoys the double date and they leave the restaurant with their bellies full and a few new inside jokes under they belt. She imagines pressing her body against Clarke’s, more for warmth than anything, and gathering her hands in hers and blowing hot air into them, murmuring their plans for the afternoon - hot chocolate under the blankets, cuddling until it was dinner time.

When the doors open, Lexa gestures for Clarke to walk out first and she muses that maybe they can still have that. Hot chocolate would be good both for how cold they are and for getting something in Clarke, even if it was mostly sugar. She swipes her card to unlock the door and turns to Clarke, ready to suggest they find a movie to watch - there’s a bumblebee documentary that has been sitting on her to watch list for forever, but she can almost tell Clarke would fall asleep halfway through it.

Before Lexa can get a word out, before she can even form the sentences about what they could do to make them both forget what happened back then, cold fingers grip at the nape of her neck, pulling her inside the room. She doesn’t register Clarke closing the door or how they make it past the little hallway - all she can see is Clarke’s bright blue eyes glued to her mouth, a new kind of hunger in them, their foreheads touching as they back further into the room, Clarke’s breath hitting her cheek in shallow puffs.

Part of Lexa is yelling at her to break away from Clarke’s grip, to force her to sit and not let her get up until she’s eaten at least the overpriced peanuts in the minibar. But the part of her that overwhelms any logical thought craves Clarke too much to let her go and, when Clarke tilts her head so their lips touch, Lexa can’t even think about fighting it. 

For a moment, she sinks into the kiss. Her arm wraps around Clarke’s waist as they try to find balance with their bodies so close, her hand reaching up to cup her cheek once their kiss deepens. For a moment, Lexa pretends that Clarke’s nails sinking into her neck doesn’t mean anything, that the way her fist closes around her shirt is normal, that the erratic way she kisses Lexa doesn’t mean she’s hurting.

It’s messy and desperate and Lexa breaks away for air a moment before Clarke blinks a heavy tear away. Lexa watches it trailing down her cheek and lets her thumb catch it, wiping it away, drawing circles with the pad of her thumb on her skin, willing no tears to follow. She dips her head until their foreheads are touching, until she can feel Clarke’s body heat seeping through their clothes, until she’s close enough to heal her.

They stay that way for a few heartbeats and Lexa can feel Clarke clenching her jaw beneath her palm, can feel the sharp breaths that have nothing to do with their kiss hitting her cheek. Lexa starts to pull away again, to check if Clarke’s eyes are still a blue ocean with tears trying to break free more than anything, but Clarke uses the momentum to launch herself forward, clashing their lips so hard that their teeth bump when Clarke snakes her tongue into Lexa’s mouth.

Lexa indulges her for as little as her lacking self control lets her, breaking apart to grip at her own wandering thoughts only to have Clarke nibbling at her bottom lip, sucking it lightly enough to make her head spin. “Clarke, wait- wait a second,” she says in between messy kisses, pulling back at the same rate Clarke surges forward, “What are you  _ doing _ ?” 

The question comes out harsher than she meant to, the sharp edges cutting through Clarke as Lexa holds her away from her by the shoulders. It’s all written in her blue eyes turning darker with something Lexa hopes isn’t shame, her mouth turning downwards as if she just ate something too sour. Lexa opens her mouth to say something - what exactly she’d say, she doesn’t know, she’s just trying to wing this as best as she can - but Clarke takes a step back, jolting her shoulders away from Lexa’s grip and shutting her up with a single look.

Then she takes a half step forward and then another, and Lexa is rooted in place, wanting to fix whatever is wrong with them, grasping at straws for a solution. “I just want to make out with my girlfriend,” Clarke whispers when she’s mere inches away from Lexa and the word  _ girlfriend _ never tasted so much like bile to Lexa, but nonetheless it weakens her. Clarke is calling her  _ her girlfriend _ \- even if everything else is broken, they’re real. Aren’t they? “Is that so wrong?”

Clarke is pleading - her  _ girlfriend _ is pleading for a damn kiss and Lexa doesn’t feel like they should. She lets her arms fall to her side and the next second, Clarke has her face in her hands, bringing their lips together in a hard and bruising kiss that somehow lacks the strength to deepen. Lexa grips at Clarke’s waist, locks her lips shut and pushes her away, only enough for them to part.

“It is when you’re hurting like th-” Lexa doesn’t even get her sentence out before Clarke kisses her again, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. Lexa’s stomach turns at the way Clarke curls her fingers around her hair, pulls her closer, the way her breathing seems to grow shallow with each puff she exhales. “Fuck- Clarke,  _ wait _ .”

It takes Lexa all she’s got to push Clarke away for good.

She stumbles back gracelessly, taking two steps back before she can gather herself and stand up straight. But the moment she meets Clarke’s gaze, she almost lets herself crumble right there in the middle of the living area. Clarke’s jaw is set tight and her eyes are glazing with a fire Lexa doesn’t quite understand. At a glance, all she’d see would be anger and resentment - but tears are rolling down her cheeks, leaving accusing trails behind, betraying Clarke’s efforts of looking stoic.

Clarke wipes at her tears with the back of her hand, sparing Lexa one single glance before she starts gathering her things. Lexa hadn’t even  _ realized _ they had shed their coats, but Clarke storms around the room, picking it up from the floor and searching for her clutch in the path they’ve made through.  “I should have known you’d get tired of me the moment the chase was over. That’s what happens. It becomes real, it becomes boring.”

A hot wave washes through Lexa, shame making her toes curl, her stomach coil tight. The words Clarke spews with so much anger dot Lexa’s skin, marking her. She’s never known this. She knows anger, she knows how to handle an angry client who’s sure to lose a few million dollars, she knows what to do to keep her own pent up anger from spilling over. But this is different - this anger is personal, aimed to hurt and damage as much as possible, meant to crush whatever is in its path.

And then something clicks within her.

“This is about Finn, isn’t it?” her voice comes out in a whisper, the shell of a voice at all. She turns to find Clarke paused mid movement, one arm in her coat, the other halfway up the air. It hits Lexa like a punch in the stomach - of course they couldn’t leave Finn behind, the same way one can’t close a can of worms without some finding their way out.

Her feet guide her towards Clarke. “No. It isn’t. But if you want to follow his footsteps, let me know,” Clarke scoffs as she shoves her other arm inside the sleeve, much more aggressively than she needs to be. Lexa sees the tears gathering in her eyes again and she’s lost. She wants to embrace Clarke into a hug that lasts for hours, wants to make sure she knows whatever Finn did, she won’t do the same. But Clarke has her walls up, so she turns to mockery, her voice coming out in a sharp tone, “ _ Please _ , before a fiancée walks in on us.”

It takes her only a moment to decide to brace herself against Clarke’s defenses and tear that wall down, brick by brick if she has to. Lexa doesn’t have a plan in mind when she scoops Clarke’s face in between her palms, delicately tilting it up until blue eyes meet green, “Clarke…” her name comes out in a choked gasp, Lexa’s voice cracking around the edges as she lets the pad of her thumb slide across Clarke’s cheekbone, down the side of her nose, across her upper lip, “I’m not him. I won’t leave you for anyone else.” She infuses as much truth in her voice as she can, knowing in her core that she could never have anyone but Clarke. Lexa feels her own eyes prickling with stubborn tears, but forces herself to keep going, “I- I’m sorry, for putting you in this position. But believe me when I say I’m not running away.”

For a few heartbeats, Lexa can swear Clarke will shove her hands away and storm out the door. But little by little, Clarke softens. It happens so slowly Lexa doesn’t even realize it at first. It’s almost like Clarke is consciously telling each individual muscle to unknot until her jaw loosens, her lips relaxes, her shoulders drop and the welled up tears roll down her cheeks.

Lexa wipes her tears away, but they’re falling down faster than she can catch them, hot and heavy, leaving a path in their wake. “Do you believe me?”

With a gentle stroke, Lexa catches a tear that fell past her thumb and drips from Clarke’s cheek. Clarke closes her eyes and sighs, her voice choked with tears, “I believe you want to mean it. But I can’t-”

“Clarke. Look at me,” Lexa prompts and she cuts her mid sentence, not really caring to the end of that sentence, not really wanting to let Clarke  _ believe _ in the end of that sentence. “I don’t have any secret life you don’t know about, I haven’t lied to you so far and I don’t plan on starting now. What we have-” Lexa stops herself and takes a sharp, ragged breath in. Sometimes she forgets they haven’t been together for months, like they tell everyone. She forgets they haven’t spent the summer together, haven’t gone to dates under the stars, haven’t woken up together in too many lazy Sundays to count. But she doesn’t dwell on it - there’s time for all that. “I won’t cheat, I won’t willingly hurt you. I won’t leave you. Not matter how broken you are, no matter what’s in your past. I will stay.”

Leaning her cheek against Lexa’s palm, Clarke nods. It’s enough for now. It’ll take more than a handful of well meaning words for Clarke to actually believe, deep down in her core, how serious Lexa is about her - that thought surprises Lexa herself, she’s taken aback by how much she means each and every word. But it’s enough for now.

They stay like that for a moment - Lexa holding her cheek, Clarke resting her forehead on Lexa’s chest, her fingers knotting the dressy fabric of her blouse until it’s a crumpled mess, her breathing short and shallow. Lexa wants to make sure Clarke isn’t crying, that she doesn’t  _ feel like _ crying, but she’s at loss.

All she can do is hold Clarke for as long as she needs her to.

When Clarke draws back a while later, barely enough for Lexa to see her face and take notice that her eyes are puffy but thankfully dry, she whispers in a voice too small to belong to the hurricane that Clarke carries inside of her, “I’m- I just want to feel something other than pain. For just a moment.” Clarke pulls at Lexa’s shirt, grasping until she gets a hold of her waist, sinking her nails into soft skin, “Please, Lex. Just-” the nickname comes out in a gasp and it breaks Lexa - right then she realizes she’ll do whatever Clarke asks, “ _ Please _ , make me feel something other than pain.”

With a meaningful tug, Clarke locks their hips together and presses her lips to Lexa’s neck, her nose cold against the warm skin raising stubborn goosebumps. Lexa breathes Clarke in, knowing the smell of her shampoo matches the one she left in sheets, lets one hand curl around blonde curls as she tilts her face towards her. 

If this is what Clarke needs to be whole again, even if for a moment, Lexa is more than willing.

“Okay,” Lexa nods as she whispers for good measure, leaning in to drag her lips softly down the same path her tears had gone through before meeting her lips in a kiss almost too delicate to match the fire in their words a little while ago, “Okay, I’ve got you.”

It only takes a moment for Clarke to take charge of the kiss, opening her lips against Lexa’s and changing the pace to something bruising and demanding. All Lexa can do it try to keep up. Clarke wrestles out of her coat, breaking the kiss to shrug it off until it lands with a soft thud on the floor, and Lexa mumbles a “ _ come on” _ as she wraps her arm around her waist and pulls at her thigh, urging her take a leap and let herself go. 

Clarke does so with grace, wrapping her arm around Lexa’s shoulders to hoist herself up, holding herself in place with her ankles locked together. Lexa takes in a sharp breath - Clarke isn’t really heavy, even if Lexa has the upper body strength of a wet noodle, but they’ve never been in this position before and it makes Lexa crave for all the firsts they have ahead of them. She carries them towards the bed, barely seeing where she’s going with Clarke’s scent overwhelming her senses and the mouth shamelessly assaulting her throat, almost tripping on the heels Clarke kicks off halfway there.

Lexa pants with effort, trying to mask how turned on she is by Clarke sucking hard on her pulse point before soothing it with the flat of her tongue, only to do it all over again. This is about Clarke,  _ not her _ .

Dropping rather than placing Clarke on the floor, Lexa rejoices at the sound of her soft chuckle, holding Clarke’s waist tighter to help her stay on her feet. Maybe this would help Clarke get her mind off of everything, even if against Lexa’s better judgement. Clarke is a few considerable inches shorter without her heels and it makes her look much smaller than she actually is, but Lexa follows suit, stepping down from her shoes at the same time Clarke pops the top few buttons of her shirt and pulls it over her head. 

Every and any trace of humor is gone from Clarke’s face the moment Lexa’s shirt hits the floor, her blue eyes hungry as she takes in the half naked form in front of her. Lexa steps closer and reaches around Clarke, her nimble fingers finding the zipper with ease, her mouth connecting to the spot where Clarke’s neck meets her shoulder. She doesn’t let go of the spot while Clarke shims out of her dress, placing soft open mouthed kisses along the elegant line of her neck, peppering her naked shoulder with tiny pecks.

Lexa would be happy to stay in that moment - arms on Clarke’s newly exposed midriff, lazily kissing her neck - forever, but she jolts away in surprise Clarke snakes her hand up her inner thigh and lets it find its home in between her legs. She can barely catch her breath before Clarke slides her panties aside, can hardly force herself to remain focused enough to reach down and grab her wrist, pulling Clarke’s hand away the moment her digits find her already embarrassingly slick skin.

It’s about  _ Clarke _ , not her.

“Wait,” Lexa breathes out, bringing their foreheads together and reaching up to hold Clarke’s face close to hers. She can feel Clarke clenching under her palm and she blinks away the ache in her stomach, drawing back only far enough to look at Clarke. Her face is slowly crumbling again, the lines in between her brows more evident as worry and something else creeps up on her - fear of rejection, maybe? Even the possibility of Clarke thinking Lexa doesn’t want her makes her head swim, so she shoots for the best thing she can think of, “My skirt.”

Taking a step back to try and work her zipper with clumsy, clammy hands without taking her eyes off Clarke, Lexa swallows past the lump in her throat when she sees the way Clarke wraps her arms around her waist and stares at the floor between their feet, almost as if trying to collapse in on herself. Lexa grunts in frustration and turns her torso as she twists her skirt to actually see what she’s doing and get a better grasp of the goddamned zipper. 

She kicks out the leather fabric with a victorious sigh, a smile threatening to creep up on her face, and turns back to look fully at Clarke once again. Lexa finds her dragging her panties down toned legs, her bra already lost somewhere in the room. Clarke steps to her full height and Lexa can only barely manage to keep her jaw from dropping when she takes her in with hooded eyes - Clarke is breathtaking.

When Clarke stretches her arms in front of her, Lexa takes her hand without a second thought. Lexa settles back against the pillows, half propped up, half lying down, and swallows hard when Clarke crawls towards her and straddles her waist, sinking down until Lexa can feel her wetness coating her lower abdomen. The shuddering breath she takes seems to be what Clarke was looking for, if the small grin is anything to go by. 

Lexa reaches up and splays her palms on the soft swell of Clarke’s stomach as Clarke reaches back and pulls Lexa’s thigh up, urging her to plant her feet on the mattress to keep her leg at just the right angle. Lexa grits her teeth when Clarke slides against her skin, the slickness of the contact making her breath catch in her throat, the soft and almost slow motion bobbing of Clarke’s breast making it nearly impossible to keep her head clear. 

Taking Lexa’s hand in hers, Clarke arches her back as she picks up her pace and slides their joined hands until Lexa’s palms rest snuggly on her breasts, giving them a soft squeeze to show her what she wants before letting go. Lexa watches Clarke gathering stray hairs from her nape and holding it all up in a bun as she moves and Lexa can’t find it in herself to grope Clarke the way she wants her to, not when she looks ethereal with a thin sheen of sweat covering her skin and heaving chest. Instead, Lexa traces the sensitive skin with the pads of her fingers, lingering whenever she felt goosebumps prickling up. 

It doesn’t take long before Clarke grunts impatiently and lets go of her hair to swat Lexa’s hand away and grip at her own breasts. Lexa mourns the change in position for a moment - Clarke riding her thigh while holding her own hair up, showing up the slender line of her neck - but takes the moment to wrap her arm around Clarke’s waist and flip them over.

The ‘oof’ sound Clarke lets out amuses Lexa as she settles in between open legs, drawing lower to press their lips together. Clarke tilts her hips up, missing the friction, but all Lexa does is draw back so she’s just out of reach. She’s teasing when she’s not all that sure she should, but Clarke wants distraction and that she can do.

She lavishes the sensitive skin of Clarke’s breasts, taking turns between wet, open mouth kisses and gentle presses of her lips. She circles around the stiff peak, not quite giving into it yet, and smiles when Clarke wraps her fingers in her hair, ruining the time she put into fixing it as she tugs and pulls. Lexa settles more heavily on her knees and drags her fingers down Clarke’s side, tracing each curve but never settling into any. 

They have all the time in the world.

When Clarke’s fingers curl into a fist and pulls hard enough for it to sting, Lexa leans on her forearms and presses a longer kiss on her sternum, before looking up to, ready to obey to whatever direction Clarke wants to give her, only to find pure distress in her features. In the small moment that takes for Clarke to throw her arm over her face, Lexa register the downturned pursing of her lips and furrowed brow, her chest heaving under her.

Lexa draws up to her hands, hovering above Clarke and trying to think of what to do. Clarke’s legs had gone limp beside Lexa, no longer clutching or trying to find any purchase, her free hand clutching the sheets.

“Clarke?” Lexa whispers, scared to disturb the silence with her uneven voice, and traces the underside of the arm covering Clarke’s face when she hears a broken sob from underneath it. Her throat closes around the air that refuses to get into her lungs and something inside of her sinks a few inches, curling inside of her stomach.

All Clarke does for a moment is clench her fingers in a fist, her nails sinking into her palm until they flash white. She mumbles something Lexa can’t hear until she gets closer to Clarke, “I can’t- I can’t do this. I can’t be this.” The words cut deep, drawing bile up her throat, and startle Lexa enough to make her squirm of Clarke’s reach, until nothing of hers is touching anything of Clarke’s. Her skin seems to crawl and she feels like a dirty old man, like she broke something to fragile for her to hold in her hands.

“You don’t have to do anything. I-” Lexa hurries to say, tumbling over her own breath to get the words out, “I can go.” She doesn’t know where she even could go, but Lexa would rather wander in the streets than make Clarke uncomfortable.

“No, don’t,” Clarke urges, letting her arm fall from her face at the same time she reaches out to grasp at Lexa’s knee, “I want this. I just- I can’t be-” Clarke keeps her eyes screwed shut as she tries to spit out the words through sharp intakes of breath. Lexa thinks about stroking her blonde hair back, but she’s frozen in fear. When Clarke does manage to take a deeper breath, she opens her eyes and searches for Lexa’s, “Fuck, I can’t be  _ soft, _ Lex.” Clarke shakes with each word, her clammy hands squeezing Lexa’s leg in something that could be a warning, could be reassurance. She blinks back her tears without a single one falling, turning to stare at the ceiling, folding both her hands on her stomach and holding her voice much more steadily than Lexa thought possible, “I mean, I guess I can, it’s just too- right now, it’s too much. I-”

“Tell me what to do.” Lexa says matter-of-factly, jumping with her first thought as her parachute, grasping at straws for anything that might close Clarke’s wounds. Clarke looks at her through wet lashes and Lexa has to hold her breath. 

Her painfully blue eyes a stormy ocean under clear sky and Lexa can barely realize how cliche it is that she’d like nothing but to drown in those waters.

Clarke nods, pausing for a second to gather her thoughts, which Lexa is glad for. She watches as Clarke scrambles on the sheets, tossing and turning until she lands on her stomach and eyes Lexa meaningfully. Lexa bites her lip, sucking it in to keep anything she might say tucked inside of her - this is about  _ Clarke _ , not  _ her _ .

Following instructions isn’t her forte - there’s a reason she can’t cook to save her life - but Lexa tries her mightiest to do as Clarke tells her. Her voice is small but certain as she urges Lexa to straddle her thigh, reach over her and sink deep within her in a pace she won’t be able to keep up for long without her hand cramping. 

But Lexa does as she’s told. She wraps her fist around the hair at her nape and pulls until Clarke lets out a guttural groan that cuts through the sound of skin against slick skin. She watches Clarke props herself up on her forearms and thrust back against her hand, her back arching as her breathing becomes more labored. 

It burns Lexa to see Clarke like this.

Objectively, she is turned on at the sight of Clarke writhing under her touch with an abandon that takes her back to their first few times, when Clarke’s walls were sturdier and her moans more for show. But Lexa can see the cracks in the façade - she sees the silent tear hitting the mattress with an impossibly loud thud, she sees the strained muscles and the clenched fists. She  _ understands _ why Clarke wants to mask her pain with senseless pleasure and she’s glad to help her with it, but it’s still cruel to see.

“Bite my back,” Clarke demands, her voice hoarse and strained with the effort she’s making to seek that high as fast as she can. Lexa blinks, her hand pausing for the briefest of moments as shock washes over her. But again, she does as she’s told. She bends down, tightening her grip on Clarke’s hair, and draws her teeth lazily on the skin in between her shoulderblades, barely nibbling the skin. All it does is make Clarke grunt, her voice exasperated as she demands, “Mark me. Like I’m yours.”

_ Like I’m yours _ . 

Lexa closes her eyes and sink her teeth in the soft skin under Clarke’s scapula, watching for any sign of discomfort and finding nothing but encouraging gasps. She tightens her bite, holding it for a moment longer before dragging her teeth through the skin to let go.

Clarke comes fast and hard. Her orgasm washes over her before Lexa even realizes it’s happening and quickly after that, she’s shimmying away from Lexa’s fingers, collapsing in bed and trying to catch her breath again.

Her fingers are sticky and smelling of Clarke. Lexa wipes them on the sheets, ignoring the weight on her stomach that burns like molten lead when her eyes find Clarke. The wild and writhing woman that had been under her only a moment ago is gone, giving way to a crumbled figure holding her knees up to her chest. Seeing Clarke curled up in a fetal position, her sweaty hair glued to her temple, her glassy eyes staring straight ahead, might just be what breaks Lexa for good.

Lexa gently tucks the sheets from under Clarke, who doesn’t seem to even register the disturbance, and covers her naked form, slipping under it as well. Clarke has one hand in between her cheek and the pillow, the other firmly grasping her knees to her chest and Lexa is almost afraid to touch her. She looks so small.

It’s all such a mess - the situation Lexa has unwillingly put Clarke in, the memories it unrevealed, how they both dealt with it, this entire day,  _ everything  _ \- and Lexa can’t seem to find the light at the end of the tunnel. She doesn’t even know if they’re in a tunnel or stranded in a vacuum where not even the starlight can reach them. The almighty Lexa Woods works her way out of ugly situations for a living, but she seems to have left this Lexa - the one who’s just a girl in love with someone who might be even more broken than she is - at the door.

She can’t think about anything to say, so she doesn’t say anything at all.

All she does is tuck a strand of blonde hair away from Clarke’s face and watch blue eyes being shielded away by heavy lids. 

“He was one of my first regulars. Finn.” Clarke’s voice is barely a whisper at all, it’s simply air passing through lips, as if her vocal cords refuse to help her uttering those words, “We were together- he employed me for six months or so.”

It’s such a tiny whisper that Lexa only hears it because she’s watching Clarke with too much intent, noticing each movement as she breathes in and breathes out. Lexa had hoped Clarke had fallen asleep, that the emotional turmoil of the day had knocked her out cold, that she’d have a few hours of rest before waking up to face it all again. 

“It wasn’t always sex,” Clarke shifts, tucking her knees closer to her chest and Lexa wonders for a moment if she’s trying to become smaller, to occupy less space, to shrink herself into non-existence - Lexa has been there, done that, “I mean, at the beginning, that’s all that was, but then we started going on dates, he’d talk about his day and I’d talk about mine. It felt like a relationship. He…” she takes a shaky breath, the shadow of a smile ghosting her lips, “He took me outside of town to watch the stupid stars once and told me he could really fall in love with me. And I believed him.”

Maybe it’s for the best that Clarke hadn’t fallen asleep after being thrown back into a past that so clearly still haunted her. Because that’s the thing about ghosts - they never truly leave. They weave their way into dreams and morph into disgusting creatures that cling to memories and turn them into a carnivalesque nightmare drowning in nostalgia.

“He used to say I was his princess, that’s- that’s what he’d call me. And he treated me like one, even in the smallest things. Draping a blanket on me if I fell asleep on the couch, wings and beer for a game,” Clarke opens her eyes, brimming with tears that make her eyes impossibly blue, but refuses to meet Lexa’s gaze. “He treated me as if I wasn’t so hard to love.”

It breaks something inside Lexa, hearing the cracks in Clarke’s voice as she fights through every word, heaving how much she believes in them. A hot white rage leaks within her and she has half a mind to haunt Finn, to tie him up in a basement somewhere and drive a sharp knife on his skin over and over until he’s begging for his life. 

It’s an ugly, vicious thought. It’s a thought Lexa never considered possible for her to have. 

“Until- Until I got pregnant. I-” Clarke blinks and the tears fall hot and heavy. Lexa watches them pool on the bridge of her nose for a brief moment before a new tear pushes it over the edge. “God, I was so stupid. I got little baby shoes and put them on the pillow of the hotel room we used to meet,” Clarke sniffs, half heartedly wiping her eyes on the wet pillow, and Lexa doesn’t think before she reaches out to swipe a thumb under her eye. Clarke flinches at the touch and recoils, curling further in on herself and Lexa snaps her hand back, tucking it between her knees - too much. It takes Clarke a moment to speak again, gnawing on her bottom lip before choking out her words until they’re barely strong enough to make it out, “He was confused, at first. And then he got angry. He was so angry.”

Lexa pictures crocheted shoes, small enough to fit only her thumb, resting lightly on a crisp pillow case and something tightens inside of her as the image changes to fit the client-turned-boyfriend who never wanted to be a father. She imagines a raised fist and reddened skin, split lip and salty tears - did he hit her? Lexa has seen enough angry men to know the vast majority gets physical and a punch on a table can very turn into a slap across a delicate cheek.

“I was happy about the baby, but he said I was a, uh,” Clarke scoffs humorlessly, the words stinging, “a cheap whore that had pulled this on him so I could get his money. I didn’t give a fuck about his money, I’d live under the bridge if it meant we got to have our baby.” Before she registers her actions, Lexa reaches up and places a warm palm on Clarke’s calf - close enough to let Clarke know she’s there, distant enough to not overwhelm. “But he didn’t even believe it was his. He said it could be anyone’s and that he had a girlfriend, a real one, and-”

Her entire body shakes as she breathes in, holding it as the words tumble down, “He scheduled an abortion, dropped me off there and waited until I left to make sure I had gotten it out - his words.” Clarke closes her eyes and her strangled voice cuts sharply through the silent room, “He never asked me what I wanted. I had to lie there in that awful paper gown, alone,  _ terrified _ -”

Lexa scoots ever so closer, enough to gather her in her arms if she needs it, if she allows it. She feels powerless. Clarke is crumbling to pieces in front of her and she doesn’t know how to make it better.

“Finn sent me a get well soon card. Like I was an aunt that had caught the flu,” the disgust is clear in her voice, broken by sobs that ripple through her body, “He wrote a note, saying he couldn’t throw his future away for me. For someone like me. He had a reputation and he wouldn’t give it up for a whore.”

When Lexa throws all caution to the wind and scoops her up, Clarke doesn’t fight her. She stiffens for a moment when Lexa wraps her arm around her waist, but relaxes into the touch, letting go of her own knees to rest a shaky hand on Lexa’s chest. Her heart is racing with worry and she knows Clarke can tell. “You’re not- You’re not a whore. Clarke. You’re not, no matter what it is you do for a living-”

“He couldn’t even call me to tell me that. He wrote-” Clarke cuts her mid sentence and sputters out, just a breath, just a last attempt to get her demons out, “He wrote that it’s what I am and I don’t deserve anyone’s love. Only their money.”

“You deserve  _ so much _ . You deserve to love and to be loved in return, to build a family if you want to,” Lexa presses a kiss to the crown of Clarke’s head when she molds her body against hers, untucking her knees and resting her temple on Lexa’s waiting arms, “You deserve happiness, Clarke. You deserve more than just surviving each day.”

“How can you even believe in all that? After all the people I slept with, for  _ money _ ,” she shakes under Lexa, who tightens her grip ever so slightly as the shame of calling Clarke out for that exact same reason days before wash over her fresh. Because Clarke  _ believes _ it, she truly believes every word. “Even you can’t be that much of a saint”

“I’m  _ not _ a saint, but- I’m not- I’m not him,” her words sound hollow, no matter how much meaning she tries to inflict in them, “I won’t leave you.”

“You say that now but… Lex, there’s a reason I don’t do relationships,” Lexa doesn’t miss the sweet nickname the same way she doesn’t miss the way Clarke keeps it in the present tense. “It’s not easy to date an escort.”

“God knows it’ll be hard and we’ll fight, we’ll argue, we’ll do everything two people in a relationship are meant to do. But I will not leave you.” She means every word and wants to make sure Clarke knows the urgency in them, but they sound too much like ready-to-go sentence thrown into every romantic comedy for them to stick, “Not because of your job, not because it’s convenient, not to avoid responsibilities.”

Clarke shakes her head and Lexa feels more than sees hot, thick tears falling. There’s no point in arguing, no point in trying to force Clarke to change her mind, to stop believing in something that has been ingrained into her for years now. Changes like that don’t happen overnight. They happen over months of being loved, truly loved, until one day she’ll wake up and realize it doesn’t hurt that much. 

They have time.

One day, it won’t cripple her to remember the bastard that made her believe she didn’t deserve to be loved. And Lexa hopes that one day, she herself won’t be crippled when she remembers black ice and a stiff body clinging to her shoulders. They’ll heal.

Clarke buries her face further into Lexa’s chest, wet lashes tickling her skin as Clarke closes her eyes, and Lexa can’t help the image her traitor mind concocts - a toddler, with socked feet and tangled hair, paddling wildly and wobbly across the hallway, running into mommy’s arms. The baby has Clarke’s hair. Clarke would have a toddler now, if-

“I’m sorry- this-” the words tumble out of her lips before her brain can even come up with them and soon she’s mouthing nonsenses, looking like a fish gasping for water that isn’t coming. “I can’t imagine what that must have felt like, how hard it must’ve been for you to go through that alone.” 

It takes Clarke a moment to realize what Lexa means - her pregnancy, the child that never came to be. “I had hoped for a girl,” Lexa expects more tears to come, half of her already regretting bringing it up, but Clarke merely sniffs and rolls over, away from Lexa until she lands on her back, “I didn’t get to find out but… I felt like I was- I would have a girl.”

Lexa feels cold air where Clarke had been just a moment ago and curses anyone who’d give that up. The toddler she imagined a moment ago gains pigtails and runs into Clarke’s stretched arms, the early morning light giving them both matching halos. 

Gritting her teeth and willing the images away, Lexa reaches out and brushes a wet strand of hair away from Clarke’s temple, “You’d- You will be an amazing mother one day, Clarke.”

Clarke inches away from Lexa’s touch under the pretense of turning to look at her. Lexa tucks her hand under her pillow, taking in Clarke’s puffy eyes, her red nose and splotched cheeks. But what sucks all the air from her lungs is the self-loathing she finds in Clarke’s eyes, “No child deserves to have me as mom.”

“No, Clarke, any child will be  _ lucky _ ,” Lexa urges, her brows furrowed in concentration - she wants to make Clarke understand everything she can be, “I’ve seen you with Chyler, you have so much motherly love to give and it’s nothing short of beautiful.”

Clarke blinks slowly at Lexa, as if the words are familiar enough but too complex for her to understand, and turns her face to stare at the ceiling. She rubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands, her eye makeup already smudged too beyond salvation for her to care about it, and unsticks her hair from the sides of her face. Lexa can see what’s coming next, but when Clarke does throw the sheets away from her body and climbs out of bed, it still feels too loud for the moment they were having.

“I- I need to go,” Clarke mumbles as she steps into her underwear and throws her dress back on, zipping it up without ever glancing at the woman she left in bed, “I need some time… to myself, to get my head back where it needs to be.” Lexa nods once when Clarke spares her a quick look before she busies herself with tying her ruined hair in a knot, her voice croaked from crying, “I’ll find you tomorrow at the gala, is it okay?”

A part of Lexa’s brain that isn’t overflowing with worry picks up at her word choice -  _ find you tomorrow at the gala _ instead of  _ pick you up for the gala _ . Lexa can very well find herself a cab to take her there, but the implications of Clarke putting a physical distance between them still cuts deep.

Then, an idea starts to form in her mind and Lexa, “Clarke, wait-”

“What, Lexa?” Clarke pauses with a hand on the door frame, glancing back at Lexa with an exasperated sigh. Lexa can see how badly Clarke needs to leave, can see her shaking frame and the slight hitch in her chest whenever she breathes - she needs to be alone and break down in peace, but Lexa can’t quite let go yet.

“Can I have your number? We never really exchanged them and-” Her voice shakes like Clarke is the pretty cheerleader way out of her league and Lexa is a little nobody trying to get her number in the impossible chance of asking her out to the ball. In many ways, in the best ways, that’s how Clarke makes her feel. “Well, if anything changes- about the gala, there are still some details-”

“Yeah, sure,” her voice is clipped with annoyance as she retraces her steps to the dresser, where a hotel pen lies on top of Lexa’s legal pad and scribbles something in the corner. Clarke drops the pen more forcefully than she needs and walks to the door before glaring at Lexa, sighing in a plea, “Don’t- don’t text me or call me to ask if I’m okay. I’m fine. I need some time, but I’m fine.”

“I won’t,” Lexa promises, “I’ll only reach out if anything changes.”

Lexa listens as Clarke steps into her heels and probably slips her coat back on before she lets the door slam behind her, all in a five second span. She lets herself fall back against the pillows, the crisp coldness of an empty bed already creeping up on her - her near decade of sleeping alone seems like no practice at all after having Clarke in her arms for a week.

The bare bones of her plan forms in her mind as she searches the thin blanket for warmth, and soon Lexa is getting up herself, wrapping her nearly naked form in a fluffy hotel robe and venturing across her room to find where she dropped her phone. She wants to set it all in motion before she has it all figured out - before she loses her nerve and overthinking drives her insane.

Lexa walks back to the dresser with her phone on her ear after punching in a familiar sequence of numbers, listening to the ring tone. ““Hey, it’s me. I need a favor. Could I use your apartment tomorrow?” She slides the legal pad closer to her, tracing each digit of Clarke’s phone number with the pad of her finger, taking in the loops and lines of her handwriting, “I’ll get you and Octavia reservations in any restaurant you want,” she throws everything she has before her brother even takes a breath, not giving him a chance to refuse, “And a hotel too, but I need somewhere homey.”

When Lincoln’s honey voice comes from the other side of the line, Lexa feels herself breathe for the first time since she walked in that restaurant, “ _ What do you have in mind? _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sassymajesty) and [Tumblr](http://sassymajesty.tumblr.com) for cuddles and comfort food.


	9. december, 27th

**_DECEMBER 27TH_ **

Groaning as she leans on her palms against the isle on Octavia’s kitchen, Lexa accepts that her kale salad will not look like the picture in her cookbook.  _ Clarke’s cookbook _ , she reminds herself with a pang in her chest, half wondering if Clarke has made this same recipe before.

If she had, Lexa is sure it didn’t look half as sad as hers does.

Following directions isn’t exactly her forte, but Lexa is trying. She has done everything the book told her to, but her shallots are a far cry from  _ crispy _ , the bacon is leaning dangerously towards burnt, she cut the dates into cubes that look more like dodecahedrons and, no matter how much she shook the jar, the damn vinaigrette wouldn’t become smooth enough.

The kale is chopped and ready to be tossed into the pan once Clarke gets here and she has a little while to go before the chicken is ready - should she check it from time to time or just leave it in the oven and hope for the best? 

For the first time since she headed outside after lunch to shop for everything she’d need to cook a nice dinner for them, Lexa finds herself with idle time in her hands and she doesn’t know what to do with it. 

She picks up her phone, wiping the smudge of marinara sauce from the screen with her apron, and looks at the time. It’s a little past seven, Clarke should be knocking on the door any minute now - if Lexa’s fingers shake as she browses mindlessly through her phone, she figures it’s just the pressure she put on herself  _ not  _ to ruin dinner this time and it doesn’t have anything to do with the fear of Clarke not showing up at all.

When she decides to check her calendar, trying very hard to ignore the red block going from six until ten tonight labeled “Gala for Children’s Hospital @ New York Hilton Midtown”, a notification pops up. For a moment Lexa is sure she’ll find a text from Clarke calling off their evening, but it’s Anya with a hardly appropriate text.

**Anya (7:13pm):** _Clients are asking for you. I hope the sex is worth the beating you’re gonna get from me._

Lexa barely manages to stifle an eyeroll, leaving it unanswered. She know she’ll most likely get an earful about it when they meet again and more teasing than she’s willing to endure, but she doesn’t have it in her to even think about something to send back. Instead, she opens the conversation she and Clarke had. It’s a short thread - that Lexa desperately hopes they’ll become miles long, with good morning texts and midnight plans - but it still lights a fire in her stomach when she rereads it.

**Lexa (2:46pm):** _Clarke. This is Lexa. Would you mind coming to dinner at Lincoln’s instead of going to the gala?_

 **Clarke (3:07pm):** _Hey, it works fine for me. Is the long dress I got for the gala okay?_

Her thumb hovers over the laughing face, the light teasing making her smile the same way it did when she first read it. She had half considered telling her to come with the dress and whatever hairstyle she had planned, but this night Lexa wanted them to be together as they are.

**Lexa (3:09pm):** _Something more casual will do. It’s just us._

 **Clarke (3:10pm):** _Be there around 7._

As if on cue, a soft knock echoes across the apartment. Lexa sets her phone down and takes one last look around to make sure nothing will burn while she gets the door before walking past the living room.

Lexa means to say hi when she opens the door. She means to smile, lean in, press a kiss on Clarke’s lips, invite her in. She means to brush past any awkwardness there might be between them and be a good girlfriend, reassure both of them that they are okay.

But she freezes as she takes her in.

Clarke looks comfortable enough in her Vans and fleece lined denim jacket, hair up in a ponytail with a few strands falling out of it to frame her face. She looks younger, like they’re fresh out of college and pretending to be adults in their first apartment - and maybe Clarke is young enough to look like that, Lexa doesn’t really know her age.

Something in the way Clarke holds herself - a little too tall to be believable, her chin a little too high to look like she’s not trying too hard to look strong - tells Lexa her night had been as sleepless as hers. Clarke avoids meeting her gaze, looking at the apartment instead. But it’s clear as day that Clarke not only cried herself to sleep but probably cried no more than a few hours ago. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, her makeup doing little to help, and her nose is reddened and raw, her lips chapped.

There’s a fist clenched around Lexa’s throat and it gets hard to breathe, to move, to think.

After a few moments, Clarke apparently gets tired of waiting for a clear invitation and steps inside, placing a quick kiss on Lexa’s cheek. “Cute,” Clarke says, pointing to her “ _ kiss the chef _ ” apron that Lexa had almost forgotten she had on.

“Oh, it’s Lincoln’s,” Lexa closes the door behind her and follows Clarke to the kitchen, looking at the printed lipstick mark under the writing, “He warned me against getting Octavia’s. Apparently she’s very particular about who touches them. Go figure.”

“You’re cooking?” Clarke asks incredulous as she finds a seat on the kitchen island, shrugging her jacket off. She quirks an eyebrow when Lexa rounds the island and picks up the knife, “Should I have brought take out, just in case?” The joke makes Lexa breathe a little easier.

“I think I’m handling this just fine, thank you,” Lexa teases, but bows her head as she admits, “The cookbook you gave me is organized by difficulty. Don’t expect anything fancy.”

Lexa busies herself chopping up extra dates, trying to get these to actually look like cubes. “You fucked up rice. I’m barely expecting anything eatable,” Clarke says and Lexa looks up just in time to see her smirking.

Lexa points the knife at her, “You’re an asshole.”

Laughter fills the kitchen and Lexa takes her in, the shallowest dimples showing on her cheeks, her eyes falling closed easily. “Have I mentioned I love it when you swear?” Clarke leans on her elbows, a smile still lighting up her entire being.

Lexa can almost swear her heart will burst.

“Once or twice,” Lexa says, holding her gaze for a moment longer before biting her bottom lip to keep herself from grinning like a fool and focusing back on chopping the dates - which do not look like cubes at all,  _ why is that so damn hard _ .

Lexa scoops the chopped dates into the little bowl with the other ones and considers for a moment trying her hand on ‘thinly slicing’ the almonds. She decides to quit while she’s winning - not even winning, she’d barely call this a tie - and leave them as they are before she embarrasses herself further.

She looks around, looking for anything left to do. She’s not above ordering in if it all turns out to be a disaster, but she really,  _ really _ wants to be able to cook her girlfriend dinner without having to call the fire department. She mentally goes through her next steps - wait for the chicken to be ready, only then start working on the salad. Should she take dessert out the freezer now or when they’re about to start eating?

With a startle, Lexa remembers the wine, still resting in the fridge instead of opened and breathing out like she had planned. Apparently, she’s been way too busy worrying about not ruining dinner that she forgot to be a proper host.

Turning to find a corkscrew once she got the wine, Lexa can feel Clarke staring at her every move. She keeps her back to her for a moment, busying herself with opening the wine bottle and pouring a generous serving in two stem glasses. The back of her neck prickles, the fine hairs on her nape standing, and Lexa wishes she could peer into Clarke’s mind - she can’t really ask outright if Clarke is just watching her move around the kitchen, amused at her lack of practice between knives and cutting boards, or if her staring means something more serious.

She says a silent prayer to whatever god willing to listen that it’s not something more serious.

They’ve had serious. They’ve had an entire afternoon of heavy and angry and tough talk. They deserve something as simple as dinner.

Lexa turns to hand Clarke her wine and the glint in her blue eyes is gone before Lexa can pinpoint what it means. Clarke thanks her with a smile and takes a gulp from it, her eyebrows going up as she hums in appreciation - Lexa makes a mental note to thank Lincoln for throwing the wine she had brought and picking up a better one.

The sight of Clarke drinking probably shouldn’t warm her as much as it does, but Clarke doesn't drink at work.

She doesn't drink at work, she didn't drink yesterday but she's drinking now.

Lexa takes a sip from her wine to hide her smile and it’s some  _ good _ wine. She knows her whiskey very well, but she’s as clueless with wine as she is with beer. Maybe she can get tips about what wine to pair with what from Lincoln. She’ll leave the beer picking to Clarke - assuming this won’t crash and burn before they have the chance to go grocery shopping together and buy Clarke’s favorite beer to keep at her place.

Clarke sets down her wine, reaching over to pop an almond in her mouth, “Where’s Lincoln and Octavia?”

_ Probably eating dinner at a nice restaurant where the chef is someone who actually knows what they’re doing _ . Lexa bites her bottom lip before taking another sip from her wine and setting it down. She thinks about them celebrating Octavia’s new found pregnancy, Lincoln drinking for two and laughing to his heart’s content - Lexa can barely keep her jealousy from eating at her. “I thought we could have dinner just the two of us,” Lexa says simply.

Clarke nods and averts her eyes, focusing too deeply on the deep red of the wine, running the pad of her index finger along the rim of the glass. Lexa gives her the time she clearly needs, if the bobbing of her throat is anything to go by. 

The warmth coming from the oven keeps the air around them almost comfortable, filled with a promising smell. But Lexa feels cold dread pooling in her stomach at the deep lines in between Clarke’s furrowed brows, her pursed lips and distant gaze.

Lexa only barely keeps herself from downing all her wine in one big gulp.

It’s a long time before Clarke looks up again, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Her voice sounds a bit too raspy to Lexa’s ears, a bit too choked, “I’m okay, Lexa. I needed some time to process everything, but I’m okay.”

Lexa feels herself nodding, almost without her wanting to, mostly to let Clarke know she’s heard her, she understands it, she accepts it - even if it’s a blatant lie. She knows it, Clarke knows it. Her eyes can barely open all the way, they’re swollen enough to make it look like Clarke slept eighteen hours straight and woke up two minutes ago. And that would be believable, if it weren’t for the chapped lips, the thick bags under her eyes and the overall haggard look of someone who hasn’t been okay for a long time.

Clarke hasn’t been okay, truly okay, in so long and Lexa can see it in the way her eyes won’t quite meet hers, uncertainty swimming in the tears she’s furiously blinking away.

Before Lexa even fully process what she’s doing, her feet carry her around the kitchen island to stand beside Clarke. She reaches out to tuck blonde hair away, lets her thumb brush the back of Clarke’s ear and cradles her cheek on her palm. When Clarke leans in against it, seeking comfort in the touch, Lexa’s heart pounds against her ribcage, the almost painful rhythm becoming increasingly familiar to her. 

They’ll be okay.

It’s a long while before they talk again. Clarke doesn’t even look up or move to hold her as well and Lexa does little more than let her thumb draw lazy circles on her cheek. But they’re comfortable in that moment, standing beside each other, a silent promise that they’ll be okay.

No matter how dark their past is or how broken they are now, they’ll be okay.

Because Lexa knows how her heart works - even if she pretended it didn’t exist for almost a decade, she still remembers the inner workings of it. Clarke came into her life like a hurricane, knowing no bounds, accepting no rules. Between soft touches and a strange kindness, Lexa poured herself out and into Clarke. Between stolen kisses and whispered confessions in the orange light of sunrise, Lexa fell in love with Clarke - with all of her, with the artist that paints underwater creatures, with all the flaws that she brings with her.

It pains her that she can’t do much more than hope that Clarke feels the same, that she’s willing to go to the same lengths as she is to make this work.

They’ll be okay.

Once Lexa has to go back to work and Clarke as well, they’ll figure out a way to see each other, to still have these tender moments when nothing matters but their breathing, calm and deep, knowing their loved one is close. They’ll learn how to make it work despite the distance, how to not hurt each other in the process, how to be accepting of their flaws. Because this is the honeymoon phase and it won’t last. Because they’ll fight each battle as they come and they’ll be okay.

They’ll be okay - won’t they?

“I was hoping we’d make it through dinner before bring this up but-” Lexa bites her lip hard enough to almost wince at the pain and draws back, putting some space between them as she waits for Clarke to look at her. She regrets the words before they even make it out of her lips,  “Be honest with me. Where do you see this going?”

Her voice doesn’t seem to snap Clarke out of the trance she had fallen into as much as it slowly pulls her from it, as if she’s underwater and barely making sense of Lexa’s words. Slowly, Clarke turns to look at Lexa, her eyes finally dry, but as wary as her voice when she says, “Lex…”

“I need to know.” Lexa kicks herself for pushing, for not saying ‘ _ you’re right, nevermind _ ’ and forgetting about it. But guessing has never done her many favors, “I won’t fight your answer I just- I just need to know.”

Clarke looks down at her nearly empty glass and Lexa holds her breath - she doesn’t know what answer she wants to get, what promises she hopes to hear. After a heartbeat, Clarke meets her eyes again, her gaze hard and demanding on Lexa’s, “I told you why I don’t do relationships,” she says, throwing her arm in a wide gesture until her palm meets Lexa’s waist, “My job is-”

“I’m not asking you to quit your job,” Lexa cuts her mid sentence. She doesn’t want to change Clarke - she fell in love with her knowing very well what she does for a living - and she certainly doesn’t want Clarke to use her job as a way out.

Bunching the fabric of her sweater in her fist, Clarke softens, “And I wouldn’t, but it’s still someth-” The oven clock beeps and the moment is broken. Whatever spell keeping them locked together vanishes when she incessant beeping grows louder until that’s everything they can hear. Clarke tugs at her sweater when Lexa doesn’t move, tilting her head in question, Lex? Your dinner?”

“It’s fine. Go on.” Lexa says, urging her to continue but getting only an amused smile in answer.

“It’s not fine, the oven won’t turn off on its own,” Clarke says and Lexa can feel her eyebrows shooting to her hairline. What is even the  _ point _ of having an alarm make that annoying noise if it won’t do anything? Clarke gives up on trying to keep her laughter at bay and chuckles as she playfully slaps Lexa’s hip, “I really don’t feel like cooking today. You go pay attention to making dinner, we can talk later.” Lexa nods and hurries away, bracing herself for burnt chicken and hardened potato wedges. “ What are you making anyway?”

“Warm kale salad and pesto chicken,” Lexa says as she fetches the oven mitts from the counter. She had tried using dish towels to move the tray when she added the potatoes and that ended up with her tearing up while running her hands under cold water. “We have shortcake for dessert too.”

“Someone is going all out,” Clarke says, the smile clear in her teasing voice. Lexa turns the oven off and sets the tray on top of the stove, biting her lip to keep herself from grinning. She’s  _ trying  _ to go all out, at least, but it’s already a victory that Clarke approves of the dishes she chose for dinner. “I can’t wait to see what you make for Valentine’s Day.”

Her heart gallops. Lexa gives herself time to keep it under control as she closes the oven door, peels her mitts off and pokes the chicken with a fork - it looks remarkably similar to the picture in the cookbook, even the golden middle and crispy edges. Only then she trusts herself to turn around, “Are you saying we’ll be together on Valentine’s?”

She finds Clarke less than two feet away, leaning back on the kitchen island, legs crossed in front of her, an amused smirk in her lips, “Yeah! Now that you can cook, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Lexa tries to roll her eyes and act like her stomach isn’t heavy with the swarm of butterflies wildly flapping their wings, but she can’t even keep her grin from spreading wide as she looks at her feet. Clarke doesn’t keep to see her blushing at the compliment, at the promise. “You’re the whole package.”

For a moment, Lexa thinks she’ll say something else. It looks like Clarke thinks about adding something but thinks better of it, pushing off the kitchen island instead. She closes the distance between them and Lexa has to remind herself to stay put, to brace herself for the closeness she’s been aching for, to  _ not _ back up against the stove and set her hands on scorching metal.

Clarke eyes her mouth a moment, reaching up to grip at the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. Lexa lets out a shaky breath - after what happened yesterday, a simple kiss seems more emotionally taxing than either of them is ready for. But when Clarke tugs at her neck, Lexa leans in for a kiss without thinking. Her arm wraps around Clarke’s waist and pulls her closer, their lips opening on their own accord. 

It feels like home. It tastes like being loved.

Between gripping her waist tighter and gently tugging Clarke’s lip in between hers, Lexa realizes what she’s trying to say with this kiss -  _ I’m keeping you, no matter what. _

They part ways when Lexa’s stomach growls in a less than subtle complaint - she hasn’t eaten anything since her late breakfast, her nerves keeping her from even thinking about lunch. Clarke snorts out a laughter, brushing her nose against Lexa’s for a moment before stepping back.

"How can I help?" Clarke says, tucking her hands in her back pockets and swaying on the balls of her feet.

It’s endearing and Lexa can almost believe they really are two kids trying to make it in the adult world, pretending to like expensive wine when they’re used to the boxed one, pretending to know how to express their emotions when all they do is bottle it up.

Lexa turns around to see what needs to be done. "Would you set the table? I just need to warm up the kale and we'll be ready."

"Should I have 911 dialed already?" Clarke teases, wiggling her eyebrows as she searches the cabinets for plates and cutlery.

Lexa rolls her eyes, turning the stove on to heat up the leftover oil, "Unless you have a nut allergy, I want to believe you should not."

"Lucky for you, I don't.,” Clarke says and it eases a worry Lexa didn’t realize she should have - she doesn’t know if Clarke has  _ any _ food allergies, or any allergies at all for that matter. It’s one thing to be so bad at cooking people say you poisoned them, it’s something else to unwillingly lead someone into anaphylactic shock. “Do you know where the placemats are?” Clarke calls back, taking Lexa out of her reverie.

They’ll have time to learn everything about each other. Their time together doesn’t have an expiration date anymore.

Lexa tries to remember where Lincoln said the placemats were, but ends up searching nearly all cabinets before Clarke finds them. They’re tucked away on a shelf so high up Clarke needs to go on her tiptoes and stretch her arms up above, barely grazing them enough to tip them over - it’s no wonder Lincoln is in charge of always setting the table. Lexa allows herself to enjoy the grunt Clarke lets out, her wiggling fingers and exposed midriff, biting back a laugh at her struggle. 

She feels so light she’s half afraid she’ll float away.

When Lexa turns back to check the oil she left heating up, she finds little more than a burnt pan. Between an array of expletives so colorful that Clarke glares at her in surprise, Lexa picks up a new pan and adds the grease she had set aside, focusing all her attention on the task at hand.

If she wants to impress a pretty girl with her cooking, she can’t let said pretty girl distract her into burning the house down - she’s come too far without a fire to let one start now.

Lexa adds the kale, dates and almonds to the pan once it looks like the oil is hot enough so she can sauté them - she’ll deny until her last breath that she had to Google what the hell  _ sauté _ even meant. Her vinaigrette looks anything but smooth even after a final shake, but she coats the kale with it anyway, quickly turning the burner off and dividing the salad between two plates she had on the counter.

As she tops the salad with bacon, shallots and the parmesan cheese she grated along with parts of her fingers, Lexa lets herself look back and find Clarke. She moves around the kitchen with a familiarity Lexa can’t fathom where she found, gathering empty bowls and dropping them in the sink once she’s finished setting the table, like she’s lived here all here live, like this is their home.

It’s domestic, the way she bumps her hip against Lexa’s, the way she lights up with a playful smirk as she reaches over to steal a few almonds, the way she places a light kiss on her cheek before picking up the wine bottle to fill their glasses and add them to the table.

It’s the kind of domestic Lexa had stopped hoping for when she lost Costia.

Clarke helps her bring the food to the table as Lexa neatly folds her apron away and it feels less like a date than something they do nearly every night, a habit they’ve built over the years. It warms Lexa to know they’ll have those years ahead of them and they will build all kinds of habit. Clarke picks up the salads while Lexa plates the chicken and if she tries to make it as aesthetically pleasing as she can, she blames the goddamn cookbook.

To her credit, Clarke looks excited about eating Lexa’s cooking, even if she knows what could happen. Lexa is just plain terrified. She bites down her lip to keep herself from blurting out they should order in - she realizes, maybe too late, that she never really  _ tasted _ the seasoning and simply followed what the book said, so it could go great or terribly wrong.

With a knot in her stomach and her empty fork halfway to her plate, Lexa watches Clarke carefully pile up a bit of everything from her salad and shove it in her mouth. Her brow furrows for a moment before she hums in appreciation and digs into the chicken. Lexa feels her stomach uncoiling as Clarke takes a second bite and picks up a potato wedge.

Lexa looks at her own untouched food and back at Clarke, “It it good?”

“Damn right it is, babe,” Clarke talks around her food and Lexa forks up a few things from her salad, chewing slowly to hide her ridiculous grin. She can’t say what she likes the most - Clarke approving of her food or her calling her  _ babe _ again. “Prove the chicken, go on.”

Lexa does as she’s told, scooping up some sauce with her tiny bite-sized piece. It’s not bad, per se. It’s fully cooked and not burnt, but not exactly what she was expected from chicken cooked in marinara sauce, “Isn’t it dry? I was hoping for something a bit more tender.”

“I’ll beat you over the head, this is  _ good _ ,” Clarke half teases, half scolds and takes another bite from her chicken.

Lexa smiles at how enthusiastic Clarke is - she’s simply pretending to enjoy her food, she’s doing one hell of a good job. “It’s kinda bland.”

“Well, then add salt,” Clarke snaps, waving a potato wedge at her. Lexa grunts and purses her lips, but does take another bite from her chicken, appreciating the good parts of it. When she looks up again, Clarke is looking at her with soft eyes and a kind smile, “Until like,  _ yesterday _ you couldn’t boil water without fucking it up. This is some solid progress, Lex.”

Nodding her thanks, Lexa feels the tips of her ears burning as she gives Clarke a small smile before looking back at her plate. 

Lexa eats a bit of everything, trying to pinpoint what’s wrong with each dish - the chicken definitely needs more salt and maybe to be pre-cooked before going into the oven, the potatoes could use some spices (maybe thyme or some rosemary?) and once she can get the vinaigrette to be smooth, her salad will be good enough.

If she’s getting started with cooking, she might as well put in some effort to perfect each dish she doesn’t ruin. And well, watching Clarke eating it like a starved farmer after a whole day in the field helps her decision to be good at it.

They eat in a comfortable silence for a while, only Clarke’s occasional comments on her food interrupting it. Lexa doesn’t mind it. Between business meetings over lunch and late night dinners at her office going over some case with Anya, it’s been far too long since she didn’t have to talk in between bites and could just enjoy the company.

Washing the last of her salad down with some wine, Lexa lets her mind wander - maybe if she warms the vinaigrette a bit, she can get a more even mixture. When she sets her glass down, Clarke reaches over the table, closing her fingers around Lexa’s palm to call her attention.

Lexa looks up, both their foods forgotten for a moment as they hold each other’s gaze. Clarke’s blue eyes are brimming with tears, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, and Lexa can’t help but be glad she didn’t bring out the candles she had planned for dinner - her heart would break beyond repair if she saw Clarke tearing up under candlelight. 

Clarke doesn’t say anything for a moment and Lexa doesn’t ask what’s wrong. They’re open enough to each other by now and if Clarke needs her to simply hold her hand while she cries, it’s what she’ll do. Lexa grazes her thumb across Clarke’s knuckles in easy patterns and Clarke blinks, a tear trailing down her cheek.

"I'm sorry,” Clarke says after a beat, “For yesterday."

"You don't need to apologize for feeling, Clarke," her voice is soft and her words ring true. What happened with Finn is part of Clarke and it shaped her, the same way what happened with Costia is part of Lexa.

"It's not that- I’m not even apologizing for how I reacted at the restaurant, really. But I- I'm sorry for-" Clarke pauses, thick tears rolling down her cheeks when she closes her eyes. Lexa waits, turns her palm up and holds Clarke’s hand on hers, giving her all the time she needs. “I don’t always know how to deal with- heartbreak- in a healthy way,” she’s at a loss for words, her lips trembling with each breath, “I use sex for comfort way too often and I shouldn’t have dragged you down with me.”

Her voice is barely there at all when she finishes speaking.

“It’s what you needed. It’s okay,” Lexa squeezes her hand in hers, trying to comfort her in some way, trying to let Clarke know she’d do it all over again.

Clarke shakes her head, “It’s not okay. You’re not a client I can just use, I-” She takes a ragged breath, her entire chest shaking as she lets go of Lexa’s hand and wipes at her cheeks. Clarke all but shoves the tears back into her eyes before she speaks again, her eyes never leaving Lexa’s, “I like you. A lot. And I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry”

“Well, then I forgive you,” Lexa whispers, the words cutting her chest open with their weight alone. She makes her living on talking, but sometimes the smallest words can bring her to her knees. She forces herself to get them out. “And I’ll forgive you if you need me like that again.” Lexa reaches out to catch a stubborn tear, “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Clarke nods and finishes her wine.

For the rest of their dinner, Lexa makes sure to keep the conversation light, makes an effort to even throw in some gossip - they’ll have plenty of time to talk about all the things weighing them down once dinner is over. 

Lexa talks about how lighter Anya is near Raven and they exchange notes on what they think about Raven - the consensus is that she’s a damn good fit for Anya. Clarke jokes about how worried Lincoln might have been when Lexa asked to cook at his place and Lexa retorts with an offended gasp, but admits she may or may not have bribed him. They talk about how in love Lexa’s mom is with Clarke and how Chyler called her “ _ new auntie _ ” when she talked to her dad on the phone.

Before long, Clarke clears the table to make room for the dessert plates Lexa is bringing, each holding a square of shortcake topped with strawberries. Lexa would be lying if she said she isn’t pretty proud of how it turned out - even if it ends up not tasting all that great, it looks pretty. And Clarke promptly confirms that when she whips out her phone to snap a picture of her plate before picking out a strawberry from the top.

“Shit, you really fucking nailed it,” the array of expletives makes Lexa chuckle as she watches Clarke groaning after her second bite.

Lexa shrugs, “It’s a no-bake dessert. I couldn’t mess  _ that _ up.”

“Well, knowing your skills,  _ you  _ could,” Clarke says around the whipped cream, barely holding back a laughter when a napkin flies towards her

Pushing back most of the whipped cream so she could get only strawberry and cookie, Lexa grins as she answers with what she hopes is a sharp tone, “You’re very rude.”

“But this tastes really good,” Clarke says in a more serious tone, as if she wants Lexa to know she means it.

Lexa chews slowly, leaning her chin on the back of her hand, her fork dangling from her fingers. Clarke eats with an almost childlike enthusiasm, scraping up the whipped cream and piling it neatly on top of a strawberry before shoving it all in her mouth. Lexa can’t help but fall a bit more in love with Clarke right then. “You’re over praising me.”

Clarke tilts her head, gently wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin as she wiggles her eyebrows at Lexa, “You do have a praise kink, I’m just working with what I have.”

Rolling her eyes so far back her mom would say she’d get them stuck like that, Lexa joins Clarke in her light chuckle. There’s no point in trying to deny it, Clarke has seen it first hand how fast Lexa can come after a few praising words.

Lexa barely touches her dessert, more spreading the whipped cream around and piling strawberries together than actually eating anything. She lets her mind wander. Everything with Clarke has happened so fast Lexa feels her head spin whenever she tries to put it into words. They’ve went from what Lexa decided to call business partners to girlfriends in little more than two weeks. They’ve tumbled through most of the getting-to-know-each-other part of their relationship and went straight to deep and dark secrets looming in their past.

Nothing about them is  _ usual _ , Lexa knows this. But she knew how to touch Clarke in just the right way to have her squirming under her before she learned where she was born, she was spilling out promises of a future together before she asked Clarke what book was on her nightstand.

Lexa sets her fork down, giving up on finishing her shortcake. “Clarke, um, how old are you?” She means for her voice to sound casual and breezy, but something weighs down on it.

Pausing mid movement with a second piece of shortcake halfway to her plate, Clarke looks up at Lexa, “Twenty four.” She sets her cake down, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “Why?”

“I just realized I didn't know that,” Lexa again tries to keep her voice light, again she fails.

“To be fair, we still have a lot to cover,” Clarke turns her attention to her cake for a moment, forking up a piece and taking her time savoring it before meeting a fidgeting Lexa’s eyes, “How about you?”

“I'm twenty eight. What about allergies?” Lexa says in one breath. She sits on her hands and reminds herself to breathe, biting down on her bottom lip to keep herself from spilling out more questions and making a bigger fool of herself.

She breathes in. Breathes out. 

An interrogation isn’t really the way to get to know one’s girlfriend, but everything inside of her aches to know more, for her knowledge of Clarke to match the intensity of her feelings.

Clarke seems amused for the most part of it, but Lexa knows amusement can turn into annoyance in the blink of an eye. Lexa watches quietly, teeth digging harder and harder on her lip, as Clarke takes a forkful of cake, filling her mouth to a point she can’t talk around it. It only makes Lexa even more antsy.

“You’re curious tonight,” Clarke says with a glint in her eyes. Lexa holds her breath and waits for Clarke to lash out at her - she doesn’t quite know why she expects that, but she does, “You okay?”

Lexa lets out a ragged breath, folding her hands on her thighs and glaring at them to avoid meeting Clarke’s gaze, “There’s so much I have to learn about you.”

Pushing her half finished dessert aside, Clarke gets up and walks around the table until she’s standing beside Lexa. If for a solid moment Lexa thought Clarke would walk away, she doesn’t comment on that. 

Clarke cups her cheek, tipping her head up until their eyes meet, “You know a lot about me. You know more than most people.” Lexa blinks as she watches tears pooling in Clarke’s eyes and reaches to hold onto her waist, “You don’t have to know what I’m allergic to for us to be a real couple.”

“What if I accidentally poison you?” Lexa says in a small voice, working her hands under Clarke’s shirt, palming the warm skin of her lower back.

Clarke hums, leaning in to press a kiss on her cheek, “Unless you’re planning to feed me a swarm of wasps, I’ll be fine,” Lexa snorts a laughter against her belly and gets up to wrap her arms around Clarke, nodding against the crook of her neck. They’ll be fine. “But what would you like to know?”

“Little things,” Lexa says, her voice muffled by the skin she refuses to let go of, “Like what food you hate and what do you think about The Beatles. If you’re a light sleeper, how do you take your coffee, when is your birthday.“

Clarke tips her head back, an amused grin lighting up her face. They’ll be fine. Lexa leans in to kiss her, tasting strawberries in her tongue and a promise in her lips, “I’ll answer everything.” With one last quick kiss, Clarke untangles herself from Lexa and reaches over for the cake, “Can I put this away?”

Lexa nods, writhing her fingers together as she watches Clarke carrying the cake to the fridge - once more, it all feels so domestic Lexa is afraid she’ll break it to pieces. “There’s something I want to talk about first. Before anything.”

“Shoot,” Clarke says distractedly as she tries to fit the cake in the top shelf.

Lexa doesn’t tell her it’d go on the second shelf, letting Clarke struggle to find room as she piles the plates and carries them to the sink, thankful for the momentary break, “I wanna talk about us, about our future. Where we go from here.” When Lexa wills herself to look at Clarke, she finds her leaning against the closed door, nodding. Lexa leans her hip against the counter as well, “Should we talk now? Or do the dishes before that?”

Clarke saunters towards her, a smirk quirking her lips up, “Can I do something else first?”

“Sure,” Lexa grips the edge of the counter when Clarke’s hands find her waist, pinning her in place as her lips meet the long line of her neck, the tip of her tongue licking the hollow behind her ear, “Oh, is that what you want to do?” Her voice comes out much more breathy than she had intended and it takes Lexa all she’s got to remind herself that germs are a thing, “In the kitchen, really?”

“We could move it to the couch,” Clarke suggests as she peppers kisses down Lexa’s neck and gently bites her jaw, drawing back to look at her with a devil-may-care expression in her eyes, “Or their bed.”

I don’t think they’d appreciate it,” Lexa breathes out, wrapping an arm around Clarke’s shoulders, tilting her head up until their lips meet. She knows her actions contradict her words, but when Clarke presses her hand on her favorite spot on Lexa’s ribs, even remembering they’re at Lincoln’s seems like a herculean task.

Breaking the kiss to pick Lexa up and throw her on top of the counter, Clarke grunts against her lips, “I’m running out of places to eat you out.”

Lexa chuckles, because it’s all beyond what she could have ever picture herself doing - she’s about to get pretty naked and a lot frisky with her girlfriend in the her brother’s kitchen after cooking a pretty decent dinner for two. She can’t even pick what part of that sounds more unbelievable to her ears.

Shifting until she rights herself on the counter, Lexa wraps her legs around Clarke’s waist, bringing her flush against her, brushing their lips softly before deepening the kiss, all tongue and hunger. Clarke’s hands sneaks under her sweater the moment her tongue flicks against the roof of her mouth and Lexa sighs. When she feels cold palms pressing against the small of her back, Lexa can’t really tell what caused it.

Her Toms fall to the floor as Clarke’s teeth sink into her bottom lip, dragging them against the sensitive flesh and dragging out a weak groan. She's past berating herself for how much her body reacts to Clarke’s touch, past trying to make it look like it doesn’t feel like she’s going to burst into flames each time she does. Lexa grounds herself in Clarke's eyes, the little halo beyond the dilated pupil a deep dark blue, her gaze heavy and wanting, anything she can do to keep herself from hurrying the painfully slow way Clarke takes off her sweater.

It lands in a heap on the floor and Lexa can't be sure there isn't some marinara sauce somewhere under it or at the very least some spilled oil - as stated before, she's not the greatest in the kitchen by far. For a moment, she almost considers asking if they could move it to the couch, where her clothes wouldn't be in direct contact with food, but her words get stuck in her throat when Clarke's shirt fall next to her sweater.

"You like 'em, huh?" Clarke teases after Lexa spends the better part of a full minute ogling at her breasts like a fourteen year old boy would. The smirk tilting her lips and the little wiggle she does tells Lexa that Clarke doesn't really mind it.

In Lexa's defense, they were right there, gorgeous, barely covered at all with a sinful bra that mixes silk and lace. "It's a very good cleavage, Clarke" Lexa shrugs, reaching out to cup them, feeling the silk under her palm, "I'm merely appreciating it."

Rolling her eyes, Clarke closes the distance between them, sucks the pulse point in Lexa's neck, gives a big ' _ fuck you _ ' to anyone who might notice the hickey she's clearly set on giving her. Lexa couldn't care less if Clarke decided to give her a hickey on her fucking cheek - all she cares about is the weight of Clarke's breasts against her palm, the softness of the skin underneath the fabric, the stiff peaks threatening to break it.

It doesn't take long before Clarke lets go of Lexa's skin with a wet  _ pop _ , tilting back to look at her handiwork before she trails kisses down her collarbone, her chest, bends down to splay her tongue on a stiffened nipple, nibbles down on sensitive skin through her bra. As she kisses her way back her throat, her jaw, her cheek, Clarke hooks her fingers on the waistband of Lexa's leggings and tugs at it. Lexa gets what she wants and hoists herself up on her hands, ignoring her shaky arms, watching Clarke peel her panties along with her leggings past her hips. She leans back against the cupboards, wincing quietly once her warm skin settles against the cold granite, letting a laugh bubble in her chest as she kicks her pants off.

"I can’t believe I’m leaving a butt print on my brother’s countertop," she chuckles again, the words sounding ridiculous even to her. Some part of her still can't believe she has her naked behind on the same spot she's been chopping up kale less than an hour ago.

Lexa can't say if she should blame the cold stone under her or the hungry glare Clarke gives her for the shiver that runs down her spine, "We’ll wipe it off."

Clarke kisses her, hard and bruising, all tongue and sighs, and Lexa forgets to breathe.

Reaching behind her and unclasping the hooks, Lexa shrugs her own bra off, grips Clarke's shoulder, sinks her nails into soft skin when her tongue does a new swirl against hers. If anyone told her less than a month ago that she'd be squirming on a recently used counter top, dripping wet and wanting, Lexa would've called them mental. But now, she doesn't care about anything, not when Clarke has her lips on her jaw, a palm pressed firmly against her breast, nimble fingers tracing a path on the warm skin of her inner thigh. Even if Lincoln and Octavia themselves walked in right in that moment, Lexa doesn't think she'd notice.

"Fuck, Clarke," she whines when Clarke moves her fingers up her thigh, past her mound and down her other thigh without giving the attention she needs to a certain spot. The teasing feels good and the way Clarke's breath hitches when she curses almost makes the agony worth it, but she needs things to hurry up a bit.

Before she can add a few more expletives in hopes they'll make Clarke move any faster, their lips meet again. Lexa opens her lips to Clarke without thinking, taking everything she gives her, willing her heart not to burst when she realizes the change in pace. The languid strokes and caring brushes don't belong to a heated quickie in the kitchen, the deep and tender kiss belongs to a bed with messy sheets and unfinished art overlooking the city. But Lexa gives in - it's Clarke, she'll always give in.

Lexa meets her halfway, lets her thumb brush against her cheekbone, tucks a strand of hair straying from her braid behind her ear, brings her fingertips down the valley between her breasts, clutches her fingers around Clarke's wrist, guides her hand to where she needs it. It's still too soft for what they're doing, but Clarke gives in.

Pressing further in between her legs, Clarke sets her thumb against her clit, resting it there as Lexa's will her hips to stop bucking up. Lexa imagines doing exactly this in a house they can call home, whispering promises of pancakes and fresh strawberries between strokes, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut to keep her own mind from ruining the moment. They'll have time for all that. 

For now, she focus on the gentle flick of Clarke's thumb on the sensitive nerve, the strokes matching the rhythm of her tongue against hers, matching the pace of her own heart.

Her breathing lifts when Clarke enters her, one digit, sitting still for a moment. Lexa breaks the kiss, her eyes still screwed shut, her brows furrowing as she adjusts - the hard surface underneath her makes it all overwhelming, makes the familiar touch more intense, makes her heart beat just that little faster. Clarke sighs against her cheek, moving her hand from her breast to the little spot on her ribs, pressing on it as she draws her finger out and in again, seeking a rhythm.

She might as well get Clarke tattooed on her side, that spot belongs to her and only her.

Her breath hitches again when Clarke adds a second digit, her hips tilting at the stretch. Lexa pries her eyes open, forcing herself to focus on the woman in front of her - the proud little smirk in her lips, her brows knitted in concentration, her eyes dripping blue when they meet hers. It feels too much and not enough, too gentle and more intense than she can handle. 

When a digit on her clit joins the steady rhythm of the fingers inside of her, Lexa relents, leans against Clarke's shoulder, lets her heart gallop wildly.

Clarke presses a kiss under her ear, whispering sweet nothings into it, building Lexa up, bringing her sky high. " _ You're breathtaking like this _ ," Lexa feels her own breath fleeing her lungs, her hips moving to match the way Clarke moves within her, " _ The first time I saw you, all those months ago, I knew then that you'd look this beautiful when you come apart _ ." Each word leaving Clarke's lips, each breath against her skin, each thrust only makes Lexa come closer and closer and oh, she throws her head back in pure abandon when Clarke hits just the right spot.

The dull thud reaches her ears a moment before the pain registers, and Clarke laughter comes along with her soft "aw!" - because of course she'd hit her head against the cupboards. 

Clarke slides her fingers from within her and Lexa can feel her own face contorting in a painful expression, her lip jutting out as she rubs at the aching spot on her head. She's still fucking turned on, but the throbbing in between her legs is replaced by the one on her head for long enough to kill the mood. Lexa hears Clarke chuckling as she gets a hold of her thighs and she's about to be dramatic about it - how dare Clarke laugh at her when she might have a concussion - but Clarke picking her up with surprising ease gives her pause. Wrapping her legs around her waist, her arms around her shoulders, following Clarke's instructions to hold tight, Lexa lets herself be carried to the living  room.

She doesn't miss the way Clarke is puffing with each faltering step.

"You know," Lexa drawls, planting a soft kiss under the shell of her ear, "I can walk there."

Clarke adjusts her grip, wrapping an arm around Lexa's waist for added support. "Shut up, I can do this," she says in a huff, drawing a sharp breath in, and Lexa can't help her laughter, "You weigh as much as a leaf." Lexa makes mocking noises of " _ sure you can and sure I do _ " in between kisses down her neck. When Clarke speaks again, her low voice is choked - which Lexa counts as victory, for a brief moment, "I'm just- I can feel you. Against my stomach."

Confusion floods Lexa until she looks down in between them, looks at the spot they connect, realizes she's been grinding on Clarke without meaning to, trying to find the release she's been denied, "Oh.  _ Oh _ , sorry." Clarke grunts again and Lexa rocks her hips forwards, her apology falling flat on her own ears.

"It's okay, it's so fucking hot," Clarke mumbles more than speaks, gracelessly throwing Lexa on the couch, molding her body against hers, pressing her down against the cushions and if Lexa lets out a moan when Clarke's stomach rubs against her core, she's long past caring.

Their teeth clash together when they kiss again, all finesse giving way to the want, the need to have each other close. Lexa wraps her legs tighter against Clarke's waist, angling herself so she could shamelessly grind herself against soft skin, her hands fumbling on Clarke's back to work on her bra.

Before she can unhook it, before she can get any closer to the release she's chasing, Clarke breaks the kiss and leans back just enough to meet green eyes. Lexa melts at the sight and for as long as Clarke holds her gaze, she can swear she sees in those blue infinities the same love she feels deep in her chest. But the ache in between her legs doesn't care for longing stares and when her hips tilt up, Clarke hears it loud and clear.

With a sweet peck on Lexa's lips, Clarke kisses her way down her stomach, swirls her tongue around her jutting hip bone, peppers little nibbles on the inside of her thighs and Lexa writhes, rocks her hips up, nearly  _ begs _ , anything for Clarke to stop the damn teasing. By the smirk Lexa sees when she looks down, Clarke knows exactly what she's doing.

Lexa sees stars with the first stroke of Clarke's tongue against her clit, gasps for air when Clarke sucks at it with more force than she was expecting - she stores that information for later and knows Clarke does too. Lexa scrambles to find somewhere to grip, something to keep her from floating into space as Clarke licks and nibbles and sucks and  _ oh god _ , fucks her into oblivion.

Her instinct is to grip the blonde hair in between her legs, but Clarke reaches up, finds her hands, intertwines their fingers and holds on.

It's such a tender gesture Lexa has to bite back words she can't say yet.

When she comes, with tears rolling down her temple and nails digging into the back of her hand, she comes crashing and burning, whispering Clarke's name over and over like a mantra, praying this moment never ends.

Clarke holds onto her until she stops shivering, until she's down from her high safe and sound, until she's nothing more than a melted puddle. She lies boneless on the couch, unwilling to move even an inch, afraid she'll disrupt the soft, blissful fog clouding her thoughts, and feels Clarke kissing her hip, biting her stomach in that one spot that tickles her the most, placing a kiss on the underside of her breast. 

When Clarke settles against her chest, Lexa knows she can hear her heart drumming her name with each beat.

The matching rhythm of their breaths, the soft rising and falling almost lulls Lexa into slumber. Then, when rough denim rubs against her sensitive skin, she remembers Clarke is still very much clothed and probably wanting more than just cuddling.

Stopping her lazy stroking up and down Clarke's arm, Lexa pulls her into a kiss, a gentle kiss that is more lips and feelings than anything else - one of these days, she'll rip her traitor heart out of her chest and have a serious talk about how it cannot start painfully hammering inside her ribcage each time she thinks about what she feels for Clarke. She traces a path down her neck with the pads of her fingers, tracing the strap of Clarke's bra and slowly reaching over to unclasp the hooks, more hoping than knowing she can do it one handed.

But Clarke stops her, breaking the kiss, "No, not yet." Lexa gives her a questioning look, her palm still flat against fair skin as Clarke brushes a dark brown curl away from her face, "We can talk first," Lexa gives her a quirked eyebrow that melts the moment she sees how swollen Clarke's lips are - she doesn't want to do much talking right now, and the way Clarke smirks tells her she doesn't want it either, "Then we do me, and you again because I’m nowhere near done with you."

"You sure?" Lexa presses a kiss on her neck, sucking lightly on her pulse point as she maps the skin of Clarke's back, inching her fingertips down until she can hook her thumb on the waist of her jeans.

Clarke groans in what Lexa can safely assume is frustration and presses one last kiss to Lexa's lips before pushing against the couch and sitting back on her heels, "You’re the one who wants to talk."

Sighing, Lexa untangles herself from Clarke and sits too, pressing her back against the cushion and bringing her knees to her chest - she is the one who wants to talk. "I think we need to," she relents, tugging at the throw blanket until she can hide most of her nakedness - she's not embarrassed or shy by any means, but it's not a conversation she wants to have with her breasts out while Clarke is still in jeans, "If we want to make this work, we need to figure out how we can do that."

And she wants to make it work, she really fucking wants to make it work.

Looking at the sweet, almost bashful smile slowly creeping up on Clarke, she realizes she'll go through hell to make this last.

"First of all, I like that we’re an  _ we _ ," Clarke says in a schoolgirl voice, fighting against her smile turning into a grin, and kisses the tip of Lexa's nose as she settles beside her.

Lexa lets herself gaze at Clarke, noticing the way her lashes brush against her cheek when she blinks, taking in the freckles on her nose, following the movement of her tongue when it wets her lips. If they stayed in this moment forever, Lexa wouldn't mind.

She's so immersed in each and every detail of Clarke that she almost misses when she talks to her again, "Okay. Are we telling your family the truth or sticking with the lie?"

Lexa pauses.

The question takes her by surprise and she doesn't have an answer for it. 

Because, truthfully, she never considered telling her family at all. She hasn't even factored her family into her decision of building a home with Clarke - which was stupid, considering she constantly texts her brother, because they're too busy to actually manage calling each other, and has a block of time in her planner scheduled away for a weekly call to her mother that she often doesn't get around to, but the thought still counts.

When she doesn't answer for a moment too long, when she holds her breath through the thick silence, Clarke assumes it's answer enough. "Okay, sticking with the lie it is."

Lexa stutters through her answer, "I don’t- we, I mean, we can tell them. I just think-" She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, tries to organize her thoughts - fails, but pushes forward. "I think it’d change the way they look at you. And I don’t want them to judge you or to think you’re less than just because-"

Clarke interrupts her, "It’s okay."

Something in her tone tells Lexa it's not.

Lexa reaches for Clarke's hand, cups it in between hers, strokes her thumb down the back until the tip of her finger. To her surprise, Clarke doesn't pull away. "Doesn’t it bother you? That I don’t want to tell them?"

Humming, Clarke keeps her eyes to their joined hands, "I have a pretty thick skin, it won't bother me if they look at me differently. I care about  _ you _ , it's up to you to tell them or not." Clarke pulls her hands away, folds them on her lap. "But what would they say if they found out you hired someone to have sex with you?" Heat crawls up Lexa's neck and she knows Clarke can tell, knows her ears are burning red with a shame she wishes she didn't feel. "Well, does it bother  _ you _ ?"

"Does what bother me?" Her voice barely makes it out of her constricted throat.

"That I’m an escort," Clarke shrugs and Lexa sucks in oxygen  that doesn't come, "Don’t tell me what I wanna hear, tell me the truth."

Working her jaw, Lexa lets her eyes fall to Clarke's hands, lets them fall closed.

Clarke wants the truth, but the truth is something she promised herself not to tell Clarke - the truth, if she's really true to herself, the truth is Lexa wants Clarke to quit her damn job, wants her to never touch someone that isn't her, wants to fund her art gallery so Clarke can live her dream, so she can live her dream with Lexa.

But she breathes in, forcing air into her lungs until she can think with her head, not her heart. "It’s a job like any other. I understand that, Clarke."

"Understanding and having me coming home sore from fucking someone else are two totally different things."

It feels like a slap.

Actually, a slap wouldn't sting this bad.

And it stings because it's the truth. Lexa understands it's simply a job as long as she doesn't think about it too hard, as long as she doesn't imagine what someone else could be allowed to do with Clarke.

Hypocrisy oozes from her every pore, but she doesn't care.

Lexa furrows her brow, her lips thinning to a line. " _ God _ , Clarke," she says in a whisper, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Somewhere within her, she finds the strength to roll her eyes, trying to ease the heavy air around them, "Must you be so crass?"

Her eyes snap wide open when she hears Clarke chuckling softly, leaning against her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her jaw - that sound alone could push Lexa through all the hard days they'll have.

"I’m just telling it as it is," Clarke kisses the shell of her ear and Lexa's heart flutters, skips happily in her chest, ignoring everything else that Clarke is saying, "Sometimes I won’t see you for days because I’m off somewhere with a client-"

"I often do business trips as well." Because it's nothing more than a business trip and it doesn't matter.

"-and we might run into each other into an event-"

"I’ll pretend I’ve never seen you before." It doesn't matter, because they'll go home to each other, they'll ignore the world outside and fall asleep in each other's arms.

"-what if your co-workers see me with someone else and then with you?"

"They don’t have a say in my life, Clarke." Nothing else matters but Clarke chuckling in her ear, all her defenses stripped down, her heart bare for Lexa.

"I know, I just-" Clarke sighs and Lexa turns to look at her, finds tears in her deep blue eyes and doesn't think they're out of place. "I’m just as clueless as you are in this."

Lexa leans in, their noses bumping together, their breaths mixing in between them, and whispers, "We’re here to figure it out."

Shifting around her, Clarke cups her cheeks, holding her face in between her hands, their eyes falling closed when the distance gets too short for them to focus on each other, "You need to know it’s just sex, what I do." Lexa nods, because she does know it, and touches her forehead to Clarke's. "It’s all mechanical, there’s no feelings in it," Clarke says, her voice almost a whisper, almost a plea, "As long as we’re together, I don’t want you to think there’s gonna be anyone else."

"As long as your heart has me in it, we’ll be fine," Lexa breathes out before she even fully realizes how much truth her words hold.

Clarke inches closer, their lips brushing without turning it into a proper kiss, the closeness being enough for now, the mere thought of having more than a hair of distance between them sounding ridiculous, "How can you be so sure?"

"I can’t. I’m just taking a leap of faith." Lexa smiles against Clarke's lips, the new feeling spreading in her chest.

Never has she been someone who would trust so easily, who would put her future in the hands of destiny without having a detailed and color-coded plan for the next five years. But Clarke makes it easy to give up control.

Lexa leans in for a kiss, her lips opening around Clarke's like it's something they've done for years, something they'll do for the rest of their lives. Clarke reaches up, gripping her hair in her fist, keeping her close, and tries to kick her Vans off, using one foot to pry it off the other. She grunts when she can't do it and breaks the kiss, turning to toss her shoes to the floor, her socks following suit. Lexa lets her feet fall to the floor, her palm still resting on Clarke skin - first her arm, then her back, wherever her hand lands as Clarke moves.

When Clarke finally wiggles her toes free, sighing with the relief a child would feel, Lexa can't imagine being more in love with her.

Between soft laughing and leaning in for a kiss again, Clarke says, "Wait, what about the distance?" Lexa is so far gone, too entertained by Clarke, that she barely understands the words, "We do like in different countries."

Oh. Lexa smirks, "I was actually thinking about moving here." She tucks blonde hair behind Clarke's ear, her smile growing when Clarke leans her cheek against her palm, "I’ve been here most of these last few months anyway, working in the new firm. I’d need a few months to close all my cases up in Canada, but yeah-" she shrugs, like it's no big deal, "There’s nothing keeping me from taking charge of the firm here."

Clarke nods, wrapping an arm around Lexa's shoulders, hoisting herself up, throwing one leg over her lap until she's straddling Lexa's lap, "Can you even be a lawyer here?"

Lexa hums, more at the delicious sight she has from Clarke's breasts than anything, "I passed the New York board," she says as she leans in for another kiss.

"I should’ve known my girlfriend is a fucking genius," Clarke teases when they part, their lips still so close Lexa can feel her smiling.

If her chest feels like it's going to burst open right there and then with how hard her heart is beating, Lexa enjoys every second of it, "Say that again."

Clarke leans back, a mocking glare joining her smirk as she wraps her hand in a fist around her hair, "What? That you’re a genius?"

Lexa palms the small of Clarke's back, bringing her closer to her, enjoying the sway of her hips. She's almost embarrassed to ask it, but she pushes herself to whisper, "No, the girlfriend part."

"That you’re my girlfriend?" Clarke says and Lexa nods, a smile spreading without her permission, "You’re such a sap."

Lexa shrugs - she can't deny it, she won't deny it. "And? So are you."

"I’m not the one being a sap right now," Clarke says in a singsong voice, her smile matching Lexa's. Maybe, just maybe, Clarke enjoys being called " _ girlfriend _ " as much as Lexa does.

Lexa rolls her eyes, straightening up to press a kiss on the underside of Clarke's draw, shivering with the way her nails drag on her scalp, "You drew me while I slept. You win."

"I still want you to pose to me," Clarke reaches in between them, tugging at the blanket until she can free it from under her knees, throwing it to the floor.

Lexa lets out a laugh, not caring about her nakedness as much as she's intent on bringing Clarke to the same level, "Naked?"

"Hm-hm," Clarke hums, playing into Lexa’s joke as their lips meet once more.

Lexa is still chuckling when soft lips press against hers, muffling her laughter until it dies down in her throat. But she can’t quite shake her smile from her lips, can feel Clarke smiling against hers, their kiss messy and sloppy and  _ right _ and Lexa doesn’t think she’s ever done this before. 

Sex with Costia had always been something almost sacred, arms wrapped around candle lit bodies, their whispers a gentle worship of each other as they made love in a quiet dorm room nestled in between noisy college kids. There's always been something somber in their touches, as if even back then, they knew they wouldn't grow old together.

Maybe it's because she's older, maybe it's because Clarke  _ is _ the one for her after all, but when Lexa feels laughter bubbling in her chest, it doesn't feel like she's mocking the moment. It just feels like she can't keep her happiness inside. She breaks their kiss, half blowing raspberries against Clarke’s cheek as she throws her head back, laughter rippling through her body.

Lexa can't even fully grasp what's so funny - Clarke wanting to draw her naked? How she herself seems so open to the idea? The way her stomach is so packed with fluttering butterflies they're making their way to her heart? - but she leans against Clarke’s shoulder, breathes in her scent, pressing a kiss on her collarbone through a smile. 

Her hands curl around Clarke’s waist, feeling the way it dips under her ribs, running her fingers to the small of her back. She feels her moving above her and she tilts her head back to look at Clarke, to find her with her arms behind her head, working on freeing her hair from the braid she’d done. Lexa feels her stomach coiling at the sight, her hands gripping the soft skin, trying to ground herself - she swallows thickly when her face is inches away from Clarke’s breasts.

All humor drains from Lexa as she presses a kiss to the soft skin above Clarke’s bra, her tongue peeking out to raise goose bumps, her nimble fingers working at the clasp until the lacy bra comes loose. Lexa is so focused on exploring the newly exposed skin, nuzzling against her cleavage, taking a nipple in between her lips that she barely registers the way Clarke shrugs her bra to the floor and sinks her nails to her scalp, gripping dark curls in her fist. 

It's no secret Lexa is fond of Clarke’s breasts, that she can't think straight the moment her eyes lay on her cleavage like the useless lesbian she is, that she’ll give them all her attention whenever she has the time. And she has the time, she has nowhere to be but right here. So she presses gentle kisses on the soft skin, dragging her lips from one breast to another, nibbles the pebbled skin, presses her tongue flat against the stiff peaks.

“Do you ever tire of them?” Clarke says in an amused tone when Lexa wraps an arm around her waist, keeping her close as she sucks the underside of her breast, teeth grazing the tender skin. 

Lexa hums before letting the skin go, admiring the pinkish bruise against the pale skin, “What can I say? I’m a fan.” She looks up just in time to see Clarke rolling her eyes and she dips her head, wraps her lips around her nipple and sucks at it hard enough to make Clarke roll her eyes for an entirely different reason. 

Clarke tugs at her hair, her first clenching around dark curls when Lexa laps at it, and tugs at it again when nibbles the tender skin under her nipple, more forcefully until she lets go. “Kiss me,” Clarke breathes out and Lexa doesn't have to be told twice.

They're not laughing now and Lexa takes Clarke bottom lip in between hers, drags her tongue across is, sucks at it before pressing their lips together. Lexa tilts her chin up to keep up with Clarke when she pushes up on her knees, plays with her fingers on the hollow of her throat, grips her shoulder, deepens the kiss. Sighing into her lips, Lexa brings her palms to Clarke’s front, mapping the dip of her spine, the curve of her waist, the swell of her stomach, and undoes the button of her jeans, lowers the zipper.

Tugging the belt loops down, Lexa breaks the kiss, sighing heavily as she tries to find her voice and breathes out, “Take these off.”

Clarke tumbles out of her lap, barely landing on her feet, and wiggles out of her jeans, pulling her panties off along with it. Lexa rights herself on the couch, smiling at the way Clarke hops on one foot to peel her skin clad jeans off, admiring her own multicolored work on Clarke’s breasts. There’s a little voice in her head that says she shouldn’t have bitten and marked Clarke like that, that she already has a dark bruise on her back from the day before to worry about, that those bruises won’t go away within a week and other clients might notice. But she feels the bruise in her own neck, the skin tender from how hard Clarke sucked at it, and Lexa can’t find it in her to feel any guilt.

When her jeans are in a heap on the floor, Clarke climbs back on Lexa’s lap, one knee falling in between her thighs, the other straddling it. Lexa thought she could keep her cool, she really did. After all, she’s very well sated and can focus on Clarke now, can focus on her pleasure instead of searching her own. But as Clarke lowers herself, as the heat from her center gets closer to Lexa’s thigh, her self control wavers.

Her self control goes through the window when Clarke holds onto Lexa’s shoulder, adjusts herself until her core is pressed against her thigh, sighs into the feel of skin against skin. Lexa grits her teeth when she feels Clarke all but  _ dripping _ on her thigh, but when she rocks her hips forward in a tentative move, they both let out a soft moan. 

Lexa traces her palm up Clarke’s thigh, dragging her nails up, gripping at her behind, pulling her closer. Her jaw goes slack at the sight of Clarke picking up her pace, her head tilted to the side, her blue eyes falling closed, her nails digging into Lexa’s skin.

If Lexa dropped dead right then, it’d be a good way to go.

Clarke pushes her back against the couch, one hand falling to her ribs, the other gripping the cushion behind Lexa. The way her breath hitches in the same staccato pace of her rocking, the little tilt of her hips at each movement, how her lips fall open to let out little sighs - it all makes Lexa burn with love, catch on fire with the need to never let Clarke go.

When simply watching Clarke move gets too overwhelming, Lexa sits up, slides her palm up to rest in between her shoulder blades, presses a soft kiss to the hollow of her throat, lowers her other hand to cup her sex. Clarke is so fucking wet Lexa barely believes she’s the reason for it. She presses the pad of her thumb against Clarke’s clit, gentle but sure, and when Clarke lets out a moan, Lexa feels it against her lips, feels it shooting down her center.

Her thumb glides against the small bundle of nerves, shallowly, lazily - infuriatingly teasing, if Clarke’s frown and the new pace of her hips are anything to go by.

Clarke leans on her elbows, her head falling to Lexa’s shoulder, and kisses the hickey she left there earlier. “ _ Fuck _ , Lex, you feel so good,” she whispers against Lexa’s skin, her voice sweet and gentle, her hips slowing and letting Lexa take charge. Clarke drags her hand up to cup Lexa’s cheek and it feels intimate, feels like a closeness neither could have imagined. It feels intimate and a far cry from the raw, sexual dirty talk Clarke whispered in her ear when it all started, “Babe, I need- I need you in me.”

Lexa nods, because she’ll give everything Clarke asks for, and slides two digits within her. She pauses, tilts her head to the side, captures Clarke’s lips in hers. Their kiss is languid, matching the lazy rhythm Lexa settles for, dragging her curled fingers out almost all the way before slowly drawing in again.

Breathing in, all Lexa smells is Clarke, Clarke,  _ Clarke _ .

Her skin pressed against hers, her shampoo as her hair curtains them - the smell of  _ her _ , earthy and sweet, coating Lexa’s fingers and palm.

Clarke presses down on Lexa’s hand, trapping it between her pelvis and her thigh, stopping her movements. She breaks the kiss, drawing in a sharp breath, leaning her forehead against Lexa’s, tucking a dark curl away. “I don’t wanna let go,” Clarke chuckles out, “I don’t want this to end just yet.”

Lexa nods, because she knows the feeling.

Trailing her fingertips down Clarke’s spine, Lexa gives her time.

She leaves a path of soft kisses and wet warmth from her mouth to her jaw to her ear, presses her mouth to the spot where her shoulder meets her neck, breathes her in. Closing her eyes at the soft caress, Lexa feels Clarke’s fingers brushing through her curls, gently tugging free any knots she finds. If it weren't for her fingers still buried deep with her, Lexa could fall asleep cuddled with Clarke right then and there. 

Slowly, as if not to disrupt the calm that surrounds them, Lexa wraps her arm around Clarke’s waist, pulls her ever so closer, nudges her up until she can move her fingers again.

Because the wild beating of Clarke’s heart, so strong she can feel it under her lips, and the way muscles clench around her fingers tell her enough time has passed. 

Her strokes are gentle, lulling Clarke into a soft haze, pushing her closer to the edge so slowly neither can pinpoint when it passes the moment of no return. But Lexa locks her lips to Clarke’s jaw, paying attention to the rhythm of her breathing, gauging her reaction to each new thrust. 

It's painfully calm, the way Clarke melts around her. 

“Let go, I'm here,” Lexa whispers, because she needs Clarke to know that, “I've got you, babe, you can let go.” Clarke claws at her shoulder, her breathing hitching with each curl of Lexa’s digits, with each press of her lips against her skin, “I love you, I'm here.”

Three little words and Clarke crumbles in her arms, melting like soft butter, collapsing in shivers, her breathing suspended. 

Lexa freezes.

She holds Clarke through her high, coaxing her down, keeping her promise. 

It's a shame she can't fully enjoy the way Clarke falls apart, commit to memory every whimper, smile at every breath that doesn't come, knowing it's all her doing - not when she's kicking herself for saying too much, too soon. 

Because it is too much, the words carry a weight heavier than either of them can handle; it is too soon, no matter how intense these last few days have been, it's still been little over a week. 

Her insides swim in ice, dread pooling at the bottom of her stomach. Lexa presses her lips to Clarke’s skin once more, clinging to her, unwilling to meet her eyes. Because she’ll fall apart no matter what she sees in her blue eyes - either cold, hard rejection or bubbly amusement, she’ll fall apart. 

After what feels like an eternity - enough time for Lexa to chide herself for letting her heart speak louder than her heart -, Clarke moves, tilts her hips up and Lexa takes the hint, slides her fingers out, pulls at her thigh to bring her closer. 

Half of her expects Clarke to recoil from her touch and run through the door as soon as she can put one foot in front of the other. The other half expect Clarke to peel herself away and brush past those traitor words, pretend they never happen.

When Clarke gently tucks a curl around her ear and presses a kiss to her temple, Lexa can barely keep her heart from leaping out of her chest.

“I love you,” Clarke whispers in her ear, “I love you too.” She’s still clinging to her, still breathless. The dread in Lexa melts to something softer, something dangerously close to hope, to happiness, spilling out through her eyes - because of course she’s on the verge of tears. “I shouldn’t have let mys-” Clarke shivers, her teeth clenching together for a moment, “You shouldn’t love me.”

Blinking, Lexa feels the tears pooling in her eyes cling to her eyelashes, threatening to roll down her cheeks when she realizes what Clarke means. A rebuke in tipping out of her lips when Clarke shivers again, when her lips go a shade closer to blue - she’s cold.

Lexa lets herself appreciate those words for a few more moments - Clarke loves her; the difference between the gentle fluttering that is falling in love and the absolute certainty that comes with love feeling anything but subtle. Her heart skips a beat as it pounds against her ribcage, beating one name only.

Lexa lets herself appreciate those words as she tightens her grip around Clarke’s waist, “Hold on to me,” she whispers and Clarke obeys blindly, anchoring herself, holding her neck and shoulders. Lexa tilts forward, tugging at the throw blanket lying on the floor, bringing it with her when she rights herself again. It’s an awkward ordeal, her fingers almost breaking with the odd angle, but she refuses to part from Clarke.

Lexa lets herself appreciate those words for a few more moments as she wraps the blanket around Clarke’s shoulder, tugging at it in a way that mostly covers them both. It’s hardly enough to warm them up, but it’s enough for now - the thankful smile Clarke gives her tells her that much.

“Our love is gonna end in heartbreak, Lex,” Clarke lowers her lashes, her eyes focusing on her hands resting on Lexa’s half covered chest, like she can’t bear to meet her gaze.

Running her fingers through blonde locks - mussed post-sex hair still wavy from the braid she had kept it in looks good on Clarke -, Lexa traces her jaw and holds her chin until Clarke finds enough strength in her to look into her eyes. “You can’t know that,” Lexa says in a raspy voice, pleading more than anything.

“I do know that I'm a mess and I'll drag you into a world that you don't belong.” Tears pool in Clarke’s eyes, tears that Lexa knows have twins in her own eyes. It puts a bitterness in her tongue.

“I know what I'm getting myself into, Clarke,” Lexa pulls her closer, pulls her until their noses are touching, until their breaths are mingling, “And you're worth it. You're worth everything.”

Tears fall down her cheek when their lips meet, Clarke’s tongue tasting salty against hers. Lexa breathes her in, tugs at her until their chests are molding together, defies the laws of physics trying to get closer to her.

Because Clarke loves her. 

Clarke loves her and they’ll make it work.

“Do you mean it?” Clarke asks, her voice soft, her lips bruised. Lexa lazily opens her eyes, still hanging on to the kiss, the moments weaving into one another, “Do you really love me? Isn't it just because I'm a bombshell wrapped in your arms?”

Lexa snorts. Clarke has a habit of joking it off when things get too heavy - and Lexa nearly falls apart again when she realizes that she knows that, that she knows  _ Clarke  _ enough to know that - but her chuckling and the way she gestures to her naked body amuses Lexa. “I know the difference between love and casual sex,” Lexa keeps her voice low and serious, because Clarke needs to know she means every word, “You're not it.”

“You're such a sweet talker,” Clarke rolls her eyes, but her schoolgirl grin tells Lexa she didn’t cross any line saying it. Lexa feels that grin against her lips as they kiss again, feels a heaviness in her chest and everything it fine. They’re okay. “Do you wanna go back to my place?”

She thinks about half finished canvases and easels in the middle of the living room, about watching daytime television while having cereal for lunch and making love in the afternoon light. She imagines a time where they’ll do their own thing - Clarke will paint, she will read - in the same room, sharing space without sharing conversation, their company being enough. She thinks about potted plants on the windowsill and wine glasses on a side table, about borrowed shirts and little notes pressed on the side of a to-go coffee mug.

With a smile on her lips, she nods. 

Lexa takes a long, deep breath. She wraps her arms around Clarke’s waist, brings her closer in a lazy tug, closing her eyes and settling against her chest, groaning when she remembers, “We should do the dishes first.”

“And wipe your butt print from the counter,” Clarke laughs and Lexa can feel the vibrations coming from her chest, going to her own chest, a twin laughter leaving her lips, “Do you think Lincoln would have our heads if he knew what we did here?”

“God, yes,” Lexa says, quickly. When she pauses to actually think about what they put her brother’s apartment through, her stomach coils in shame. But Clarke is deliciously wrapped around her, their skin still warm from their love - she’ll put up with her brother’s rage if she needs to. She joins in on the joke, “And Octavia would hang our severed heads from poles outside.“

Stumbling out of Lexa’s lap with the blanket still very much wrapped around her, Clarke yawns, barely finding her balance. They're due for a good nap, Lexa can feel her own fatigue clinging to her - either from sex or from the pressure of cooking, she's too tired to question much. Clarke stretches her hands in front of her and Lexa clings to them, letting herself be pulled up to her feet.

It's all lazy movements and ease smiles and Lexa feels like she might just have found happiness again.

They set about on a treasure hunt for their clothes, finding them in odd places that neither remember throwing any piece towards. Clarke wiggles herself into her jeans, skipping on one leg to drag the fabric up her thighs. Lexa stumbles towards the kitchen in all her naked glory, the floor too old on her feet, and pulls on all her clothes without really glancing back Clarke. It's been so damn long since she's got dressed beside someone else and somehow it feels more intimate than dressing down. But she still watches the way Clarke puts on her bra - clasping it on the front and twisting it in place - as she puts her own on - slides the straps on and clasping it on her back. That little detail is enough to put a smile on her lips and  _ goddamn it, _ she's too in love to care.

“Where the hell is my shirt?” Clarke asks, hopping on one foot while she tries to slip her shoe on, looking all around the living room.

Lexa puts her sweater back on, finding said shirt very much tangled in it. “It’s here,” she says, holding it out for Clarke, who walks towards her with a sprint in her step.

“Thanks, babe,” she says, pressing a ‘thank you’ kiss in her lips before putting the shirt on.

Lexa leans back against the counter, the memories of what they did there less than an hour ago making her neck burn and the tip of her ears go red. Clarke does a makeshift bun on the top of her head, holding her hair up in a knot, her elastic band lost somewhere, and Lexa watches, feels her heart grown fonder, committing to memory the way her eyes fall closed, the way her lips open in concentration, the long line of her neck, the nimble fingers working her hair.

Turning to the dishes, Lexa asks, “Wet or dry?”

There's a reason she eats out or orders in for the majority of her meals - well, besides not knowing how to cook anything. She hates doing the dishes. She's contemplating throwing all the dishes out and sending Lincoln new ones when Clarke presses behind her, her chest flush against her back, her lips finding their way to almost the exact place where she left a hickey.

Lexa will definitely throw it all out and leave Clarke’s butt print next to hers. 

“Babe, I'm still fucking wet, but you worn me out real good,” Clarke whispers the words to her, her lips brushing against her skin with each word, “I don't think I have the strength to go again just yet.”

Something in the way Clarke grips Lexa’s hips tells her this is a blatant lie.

“No, you dork,” Lexa snorts, leaning her hips against the sink as she turns to shoot a playful glare towards Clarke. Her own tone surprises her, her choice of words even more. She hasn't called anyone a  _ dork _ since Costia, since she was soft enough to allow herself to be this playful, since before she's grown too hard to even think about getting close enough to someone to call them that. “I meant, do you want to wash the dishes or dry them?”

“Oh,” Clarke says, realization sinking into her, her cheeks going pink, “I'll wash them, then.” Clarke nudges her hip against Lexa’s, tapping her side, “Move, move, move.”

Lexa lets out a belly laughter and steps to the side, grabbing a dish towel from a drawer while Clarke soaks the dishes in soapy water. She waits for any dishes to be ready and settles for watching Clarke move around the kitchen like she owns it - she piles the odd dish in the sink with the others, wraps an apron around her waist, fishes her phone from the pocket of her jacket, searches the cabinets for a tall bowl.

With her phone in hand, Clarke sets the bowl on the kitchen island and unlocks her phone - Lexa can only just make out her wallpaper, the selfie they took a few days ago still firmly in place, and that alone makes her heart start hopping all over the place. Lexa frowns and it takes her a while to realize what Clarke is doing. Only when the first chords of a country music fill the room after Clarke drops her phone in the bowl is that Lexa realizes - she's using the bowl as a makeshift speaker and that's pretty ingenious. She tells Clarke that much, which earns her a smug grin and a pinch on the stomach.

Clarke washes the dishes and Lexa dries them, piling them in the island, talking about nothing, paying attention to a song when Clarke tells her to, focusing on Clarke when she starts humming along.

If she remembers the name of one song by the time the dishes are all put away to their right places, Lexa calls it a win.

The songs Clarke chose play on as they move around, setting to their own chores - Clarke wipes the counters clean as Lexa scrubs the stove, because of course she found way to almost ruin it beyond repair. Cleaning the stove might rank higher up on her “ _ my goodness, I fucking hate this shit _ ” list than touching wet food in the sink.

“You okay there?” Clarke asks in a slightly too amused tone when a gagging sound comes from Lexa’s general direction - the smell of burnt food mixed with the heavy-duty abrasive she found in one of the cabinets got too overwhelming very quickly.

Lexa takes a step back away from the stove, sniffling as if to get rid of the smell, “I’m fine, but this is a nightmare to clean.” Her eyes are watering and she settles for cleaning the product from the stove and sending a ‘ _ I’m sorry I didn’t clean your stove, please hire someone more qualified than I am and send me the bill _ ’ card. When she reaches for a clean rag, she notices Clarke looking up from her place at the counter, a grin flashing her way, “What?”

“Nothing,” Clarke shrugs, mindlessly wiping at the counter a couple more times, her grin firmly placed in her lips, a matching one working its way to Lexa’s, “It’s just- this feels so domestic, we cleaning the kitchen together.” It does and Lexa chuckles, playing with the rag in her hands as Clarke turns to glare at the counter, avoiding Lexa’s eyes, “It’s like we could have our kids in bed by now and we’re up doing house chores.”

Lexa feels her breath catching in her throat.

She thought more about what a future beside Clarke might look like than anything else, but that’s not news. Hearing  _ Clarke _ talking about them together, sharing a home, sharing a life - that’s almost more than she can handle.

When Clarke looks up, Lexa doesn’t even try to erase the silly, sweet smile in her lips.

Wiping the stove clean as best as she can, Lexa tosses the rag away - what’s she even supposed to do with it? - and washes her hand, dries them, swallows past the lump in her throat, turns to Clarke. “Do you want to have children someday?”

Clarke raises her eyebrows at her, surprise clouding her eyes for a moment before she peels them away from Lexa, paying too much attention to the soft towel she’s folding with precious care. “I told you I don’t think any kid deserves me as a mother,” her voice is small and Lexa almost regrets asking at all, the country song in the background sounding out of place.

Lexa closes the distance between them with one, two steps, takes the towel out of her hands and places it on the kitchen island, sets her palms on Clarke’s waist, grips at it, “That’s not what I asked.”

“Well, with you, maybe,” Clark says in barely a whisper, staring a hole into Lexa’s sweater, her hands coming up to grip at it, “I mean, how badly can I fuck up a kid when you’re their other parent?” There’s a different kind of glee in her eyes when she looks up to meet Lexa’s gaze, her head tilted, her voice teasing, “You’re gonna be a tiger mom, won’t you?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, presses closer to Clarke, “I do want my children to achieve great things, but I won’t force them to be straight A students.”

Humming and somehow managing to make it sound nearly mocking, Clarke adds, “Is there any piano lessons or ballet recitals in their future?”

No matter how much Lexa forces the images away, she can’t help picturing a little blonde boy with his feet dangling from the piano bench and a smile that is a carbon copy from Clarke’s, a little girl coming home with her long braided hair a mess, dirt in her clothes, a scrape on her knees from going to hard at her teammates. “Again, I won’t impose-”

“Tiger mom,” Clarke interrupts her, “Our kids are gonna need  _ so much _ therapy.”

“Our kids,” Lexa repeats, to make sure she heard it right, and Clarke quirks her eyebrow - that little girl turns into a sassy teenager, her eyebrow quirking in the same way. Lexa takes one last look around and decides that the kitchen is nearly as clean as it was when she came in, which is more than her brother is expecting, ”I think we’re all done here.”

They untangle from each other and get their things, making it as far as the front door before Clarke slips her hand into Lexa’s, their fingers tangling together, finding home. “Thank you,” Clarke whispers against Lexa’s arm, pressing a gentle kiss, leaning on it as they take another step.

“For what?” Lexa asks absentmindedly, her tongue poking out from between her teeth as she tries to lock the door one handed,

“For not going to the gala. For giving me this night of normalcy. For dinner.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The greatest character development in this story was, hands down, Lexa learning how to cook, I’m proud of her.
> 
> Aaaaand we're headed to the last chapter!! But, fair warning, it'll take a little while for it to get here. I want to write the first chapter for the series third installment so I can post them both together - mostly to avoid being hunted down and murdered, which should give you a hint of what's about to come.
> 
> I'm equal parts excited and nervous about the last part. Excited because so many things that I've brought with me from day one will show up and actually finishing a work this long means a lot to me, as a writer. Nervous because I swear, every now and then I see a comment and think "ah, yes, they will be the one to kill me dead."
> 
> Since it'll be longer until the next chapter, I'll be posting a few sneak peeks on [my Tumblr](http://sassymajesty.tumblr.com) over the weeks, so look out for those! And I posted a thing about a few other stories I have going on and two stories that will be posted here soon, if you're interested and want to [check it out](http://sassymajesty.tumblr.com/post/164229531133).


	10. december, 28th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a moment and thank every and each one of you - who read, who commented, who left kudos, who reached me on Tumblr and everywhere else. Your support means more than I could ever put into words, and each word of motivation and cheer gave me the energy and confidence to take this story further. And a special thank you for how patient you guys are - it's been a while, but I hope I'll make it worth it.
> 
> It's a long chapter and emotionally heavy, possibly heavier than anything else in the story. There are a few slurs and more than one cringe-worth moment, so be careful and go easy. Fair warning, it does not end well - but the sequel _does_. The first chapter is already up and there's a link to it at the end of this chapter!

_**DECEMBER 28TH** _

Shifting a touch to the side, Lexa watches the city lights playing across Clarke's face, the warm yellow glow turning everything just a little bit softer, like they could be in a candle lit room instead.

They’re in the backseat of a town car - the fundraiser is an open bar and no one is getting behind the wheel tonight, they’re both getting silly drunk - and Lexa can't see much of the road ahead, can only tell where she is from the buildings and street signs she catches in the side window. But she doesn't mind being lost in the city that never sleeps - not when Clarke's hand rests snuggly in hers, palm against palm, Clarke's thumb drawing lazy patterns across her wrist.

Intimacy has always scared Lexa. Quiet moments like this have never been completely quiet with her, her traitor mind going a thousand miles at any given minute. Even when she was with Costia, the one person she used to swear she could be herself with, these gentle lulls in everyday conversation were filled with an agony that never quite went away, with worry about what was expected of her, what she should and shouldn’t do, where her fingertips should land, how deep she should breathe.

With Clarke, every touch feels right.

For once, intimacy feels effortless. Lexa follows the way Clarke moves her thumb over the bluish lines on her wrists, barely making them out in the low light, and she knows Clarke feels her blood rushing under her skin - strong but peaceful, knowing it has a home to go to. For once in an eternity, Lexa feels at peace, her very soul calm and settled, content with just feeling Clarke pressing the pad of her thumb against her pulse, their sides touching, their hearts beating in the same rhythm. Lexa traces her fingertips up Clarke's arm in swirly lines, reaches the crook of her elbow, runs them down again and she can't help thinking " _how did I get so lucky?_ "

Sighing, Lexa feels the corners of her lips tilting up without her meaning to, without her even acknowledging it at all.

They come to a stop at a red light, the warmer tint of it casting onto Clarke, making Lexa’s smile grow just that little more. She leans in, presses a kiss on the soft skin behind Clarke’s ear, brushes her lips against the shell until she can feel Clarke working her jaw, her breath catching on her throat - Lexa had learned that just this morning, when the day was still too young for them to do much more than map each other’s body.

She breathes Clarke in, pressing another kiss on her jaw, leaning her cheek against her shoulder. Nothing can quite beat waking up all wrapped up around Clarke, their naked bodies pressed together for warmth, for comfort, for simply being near each other. Lexa lets her eyes fall closed for a moment and memories rush to her, more as feelings and emotions than a set of images.

Pale morning light barely warming up her naked skin, rumpled sheets pooling on her waist, her arm thrown over Clarke’s back, blonde hair spilling all over the pillows. Her fingertips playing connect the dots with freckles she hadn’t noticed before. Clarke mumbling in her sleep, shifting her leg until she had it wrapped around hers, her deep, even breathing coming out on puffs, blowing on hair strands. Lexa pressing a kiss to her naked shoulder, brushing her blonde hair away her from face, pressing another kiss to her jaw, whispering “I love you” in her ear - because she can, because Clarke knows, because she does. Blue eyes, bleary with sleep, peeking from under heavy lids to greet her. A hand landing on her chest, more shifting until Clarke’s face was buried under hers. Lexa leaning down, whispering “good morning” in her ear, kissing the skin behind it, being rewarded by a clenched jaw and hitching breath.

It had been a herculean task to leave Clarke’s bed this morning.

Peeking from her cozy place under Clarke’s chin, glancing outside, squinting to make shapes come into focus, Lexa makes out the street name as the car starts moving again. They’re near the hotel where the fundraiser is being held, soon they’ll have to burst out of their bubble to mingle with people, talk about whatever it takes to keep the clients entertained, and Lexa already mourns having to leave Clarke’s arms.

They’re still in the honeymoon phase, Lexa knows this. Even if they’ve had more than their fair share of emotional turmoil in the last few days, with fights and deep secrets to make up for weeks of dating, they are still in the honeymoon phase. Give them a few months and they’ll be making the same drive complaining about their day to day work and coming up with silly guesses about what they’ll find in this event. In a few months, once their relationship has matured, has turned all the aching fire within them into companionship, Lexa will talk about her clients and Clarke will talk about hers, they’ll go through these events without blinking, staying just until they’re allowed to go back to ice cream and Netflix in the comfort of their home.

Lexa muses she’ll go back to actually enjoying these parties and all the conversations that go along with them - her lips stretch in a smile when she imagines them as a well oiled machine, Lexa doing business and talking politics over whiskey in the rocks, Clarke chiming in, her hand on Lexa’s waist. She imagines a life where her clients ask about Clarke whenever she doesn’t attend an event, because she’s become a constant in her life.

But for now, Lexa doesn’t want to share Clarke.

All she wants is to go back home - _home_ , she thinks of Clarke’s apartment and the paint stain in the carpet where she dropped her brush this morning, thinks of mismatched sheets and a borrowed pen keeping her hair up in a bun, thinks of tea brewing in the afternoon and easy smiles.

When the town car parks in the already packed street in front of the hotel, Lexa sighs, peels herself away from Clarke, stifling a yawn. Climbing out of the car and redoing the single button in her tailored jacket, Lexa forces herself to become all business again the moment her ten inch heels hit the concrete floor. From her three piece suit, all in black except for the white button-down shirt, to her hair, styled in a side bun to give a softer edge to the whole outfit, Lexa knows she exhales power and confidence. And while it does help her make it into a world dominated by old, white men, her intentions are completely personal tonight.

Lexa got this entire outfit tailored the same day she decided to ask Clarke to play the part of her girlfriend - she remembers standing on the stool as her tailor took her measures and wondering if a suit was too much for a fundraiser, if hiring someone so she didn’t have to deal with comments about her loneliness was absurd.

But the moment Clarke walks up to her in the sidewalk, Lexa swears it had all been worth it. Lexa stands with her feet apart, hands shoved in her pockets, and she has to clench her teeth as she takes Clarke in. The warm street light makes Lexa wish she had a camera and talent in her to capture this scene forever - the navy blue of her long dress turned almost black under the night sky, the delicate lace doing a poor job of covering her cleavage, the boat neck of her dress making it all very sweet as the skirt flows under the open coat.

She stretches her hand out for Clarke to take, her own coat barely covering her shoulders - did she forgo warmth so she could get Clarke to look at her with all the hunger she has in her eyes right now? Absolutely.

"Hi, gorgeous," Clarke whispers against her lips as their fingers intertwine, finding home in the space between. She takes a step back to let her eyes trail down Lexa's body, from her pinned hair to killer heels, and Lexa can't help it when her lips quirk up in a smile, "Are you one of items in the auction? Because I'll make the highest bid, believe me."

Laughter bubbles in Lexa's chest and her entire _soft-butch-trying-very-hard_ facade is lost as a giggle comes out. "Is that a line?" she asks, knowing the answer, and tugs Clarke closer, lets out a chuckle against her temple, "Because it's awful, but it'll work."

"Good to know you're a fan of bad pickup lines," Clarke says a bit too excitedly as they walk hand in hand towards the hotel, to the event room they were supposed to be at half an hour ago. She turns to Lexa, an almost childish grin lighting up her face, and whispers in a low voice that falls just short of being sexy, leans more towards goofy, "Lexa,” she pauses, for a dramatic effect, “Are your pants made of space?"

Lexa tries to remember the second part - she's heard that one before, she's sure of it. But her mind comes up empty and she takes the bait, "No, they are not. Why?"

"Because your ass is out of this world." In her defense, Clarke seems very focused on delivering it right, on turning it into a believable pick up line. But Lexa snorts before she can help it, her chest hurting with the surprise of it. "What?" Clarke asks, feigning offense, "In those pants, your ass looks literally otherworldly. I mean it. God bless pant suits."

Little moments like this are almost as priceless as quiet intimacy.

They walk the double doors and Lexa forces her silly smile off her lips, tries to conjure up the glare that made her earn being called Commander, wills her body to keep all the happiness she feels inside. All she manages is to tone down her grin - eh, good enough.

A waiter comes up to greet them the moment their coats are safely tucked away and Lexa picks up a whiskey for herself, asks if Clarke wants wine, because she knows Clarke isn't big on champagne. They're serving a variety of cocktails and hard liquor, but no wine and definitely no beer - Lexa knows it because she worked on the menu herself, knows it inside out.

Clarke nods distractedly as she takes in the room, adjusts her dress, looks around for a familiar face. Lexa swallows past the lump in her throat that tells her that Clarke is looking for any client that might ruin their night and tucks a fifty into the waiter’s pocket, handing him another bill to cover the wine. By the time Clarke realizes they’re not serving wine, the waiter is already on his way and Lexa is whispering that the waiter will be back soon with her glass.

It's nothing much. It's a simple gesture that Lexa does because she can. She worked with the same catering company before, she knows the waiter - she wants to say his name is Hugo, but she's not all that sure; she was half a drink past hammered when she made him introduce himself that many events ago - and she's lost count of how many times she ordered something off menu, something stronger, something enough to tip her closer to not remembering why her chest was bleeding.

It's really nothing much, but the way Clarke looks so fondly at her tells Lexa she's not used to this. Sure, she's probably used to expensive gifts from clients and dining at the finest restaurants. But little gestures like this is something new for her.

With a gentle kiss to cut Clarke before the first word makes it out of her lips, Lexa shuts her up. It's done, the waiter will bring it soon and will keep bringing until she says otherwise.

Lexa sets her hand on the small of Clarke’s back, guiding her through the crowd, and she can't help feeling an odd sense of pride - to have such a beautiful woman next to her, to know that she's hers, _hers_ and no one else’s. They don't really have a schedule for tonight, Lexa has no one new to meet, nothing to get done, no speeches planned - it's Anya’s turn tonight, which will end up being a string of jokes and inappropriate comments, if they wait until the liquor has made a few rounds. They just have to mingle and for that, Lexa can keep Clarke by her side all night.

Lexa spots a few clients that made their way from Canada for this party and the New Year’s one, heads towards them, introduces Clarke. “ _My girlfriend,_ ” she says, beaming at Clarke and the way she seems to fit in her world so effortlessly, talking about goddamn taxes and managing to look good doing it. “ _You remember Clarke, my girlfriend?_ ” Lexa says to the ones who met her a few days ago, in the get together they had for both firms, and more often then not they reply with _oh, yes, yes, absolutely_. Lexa can relate to that - Clarke is hard to forget.

Only after Clarke manages to sell a painting to one of the lawyers making the change from Toronto to New York, claiming he needs a new piece of artwork for his new office, is that they make their way towards Anya.

“Oh, look who came out of their sex cave to greet us mere peasants,” Anya says, making a wide gesture with her champagne flute and Lexa’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline. Anya isn’t drunk, but she’s getting there fast. She can handle whiskey pretty well and she’ll drink anyone under the table when it comes to vodka, but champagne will have her on her ass in no time.

Lexa chuckles, “Your entire metaphor is a falling apart.”

Raven pulls the flute from Anya’s grasp, ignoring her when she wiggles her fingers to get it back, and wraps her arm around her waist - Lexa can’t tell if it’s to steady her or just to keep her from running to alcohol again.

“Well, I’m _sorry_ if my brains got fried with all the hosting I did alone yesterday,” Anya says, her voice heavy with irony, and rolls her eyes, waving the skirt of her dusty pink dress behind like a very annoyed royal from medieval times would do with a cape.

Drunk Anya is entertaining and it surprises Lexa that she can’t wait to see how she embarasses herself instead of worrying about what dumb thing she might do.

Well, that’s new.

Lexa takes another sip from her drink, the hard liquor watered down by the melting ice cubes, and looks up at Anya through her eyelashes, “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

“No, I know you don’t mean it,” her tone is overly dramatic and Lexa hears Clarke letting out a soft chuckle. She looks to the side just in time to see Clarke trying to hide her grin behind her nearly empty glass and _goodness_ , if she doesn’t want to reach out and kiss her. “You’re lucky I like it that you’re so happy,” Anya waves in between them, clearly meaning that very moment, “I mean, it’s disgusting and I want it far away from me, but it’s better than when you boss me around.”

“Yeah, now she’s only bossing Clarke around,” Raven lifts her flute in a toast and winks at Lexa.

Before Lexa can even say anything, Anya is shaking her head, reaching out for Raven’s arm to keep herself upright, “Nah, Lexa does _not_ wear the pants in the bedroom.”

“Babe, I think the whole point is that neither of them wear pants in the bedroom,” Raven turns to Anya, focusing solely on her girlfriend as she builds an entire argument, throwing words like “dominance” and “softie” into the wind in a single breath.

Lexa brushes her thumb on Clarke’s arm as she leans in, stage-whispering into her ear, “Do you think they’d notice if we just slipped away?”

“Probably not,” Clarke whispers in a way only Lexa hears it and for a moment, she considers it. They could bail the fundraiser altogether, could swing by that food truck Clarke loves and eat in the street, could fall asleep in the couch with the TV on and Clarke’s shirt as her pajamas for the night.

An entire escape plan has formed in Lexa’s mind before Raven stops talking about a “top or bottom” quiz and turns back to them “Anyway, what _did_ you two love birds do yesterday?” Anya opens her mouth to add something, but Raven beats her to it. “Besides the crazy monkey sex, which you could have done after the damn gala.”

“Actually,” Clarke wraps an arm around Lexa’s waist, leaning her chin on her shoulder, clinging her closer. “Lexa surprised me with a homemade dinner,” Clarke is just beaming with pride, like no one ever believed that Lexa could cook as much as she did - and no one did, probably. Lexa turns to the side and sees the way Clarke smiles at her, lets her heart melt with the sight. “She kicked Lincoln out of his apartment and cooked me some fine food.”

Clarke smiles at at like she’s the only person in the room.

All resemblance of romance is gone when Anya snort so loudly Lexa worries she’s choking. But she’s back to mocking her so fast Lexa promises herself to never worry again, “Does Linc still have where to live?” She turns to Clarke, her arched brow telling everyone loud and clear how much she believes in everything she’s saying, “Are you telling me Lexa didn’t set fire to anything?”

Lexa takes matter into her own hands - she finally cooked something without it being a health safety hazard, she won’t Anya take that away. “I did not. I’m starting to live down my reputation as a disaster,” _with baby steps_ , she adds mentally. No one needs to know she almost cried in frustration during the grocery shopping stage alone. She stands a little taller, “Soon we’ll have everyone over for dinner where I don’t poison anyone.”

“Hell will freeze over before that,” Anya mumbles as she reaches for another champagne flute from a waiter passing by them, and Raven grabs a glass of water to try and force it down her girlfriend’s throat before she makes a fool of herself. The sight of Anya having someone that looks after her in something as small as this warms Lexa’s heart - even if she still wants to slap Anya for doubting her cooking skills, no matter how well founded those doubts are.

“Are we sure Lexa actually cooked it? She could have ordered it in and pretended to cook,” Raven says, and all warmth leaves Lexa. The two deserve each other and Lexa does _not_ deserve being on the receiving ending of their combined teasing.

“I watched her cooking,” Clarke deadpans, “Besides, it wasn’t _that_ great.” At that, Lexa scoffs, genuinely offended, but her walls tumble down the moment Clarke squeezes her middle, tightens her embrace for a moment, kisses her cheek before whispering for her ears only, “I’m kidding, babe. It was really good.”

She didn’t poison anyone, she’s glad for that alone. But Lexa remembers the way Clarke cleaned her plate and went for seconds, remembers the compliments spoken around the half chewed food still in her mouth, remembers cooking breakfast this morning and Clarke’s offhanded comment about how they kids won’t starve after all.

Still, Lexa can’t have all _three_ of them ganging up on her, so she feigns offense instead. “I’m going to talk to our clients. Anyone who doesn’t know I can’t cook.”

“You might have to walk a while,” Raven warns and Lexa worries for a moment about just what the two of them pulled last night. She makes a mental note to talk to Gustus, see if he knows anything she should handle before their entire client list started teasing her about not knowing how to cook.

Clarke lets go of her waist, pressing a kiss to her neck, “You go, babe. I’ll stay and try to win them over.” Lexa pretends she doesn’t miss the warmth from Clarke, but the shiver that runs down her spine tells otherwise. Maybe in a few months, when summer comes and she can’t sleep in the heat, Lexa will say Clarke is a damn furnace. But right now she’d give anything to stay in her arms.

“That’s a lie, we’re gonna talk about the monkey sex you had on Lincoln’s bed,” Anya blurts out as Raven replaces her champagne for water and Lexa rolls her eyes so far back she’s half scared they’ll get stuck like that.

But knowing Anya, she actually will try to get details on the “ _monkey sex_ ” - heavens know she tried when Lexa mentioned Clarke for the first time.

Lexa feels almost glad to be leaving that particular conversation when Clarke assures them both that they absolutely did not, in any form or kind, have sex on Lincoln’s bed, only to admit a moment later that they had sex on the kitchen counter. A few heads turn to look their way when Anya squeals in excitement, urging for more details at the same time she begs to be there when they tell Lincoln and Octavia.

With a chuckle, Lexa squeezes Clarke’s hand in reassurance - that she’ll be right there if she needs her, that she’ll come running to rescue her as soon as she calls - and turns around, leaving the small group before she convinces herself that staying beside her girlfriend is more important than making money for the firm.

As a waiter passes by her, Lexa swaps her watered down whiskey for a fresh one - neat, like whiskey should be taken - and takes the room in. It’s bigger than she had anticipated when she organized the event, but the extra space works well for the valuable items they’re auctioning out tonight, leaves enough open space for people to transit between the tables and still be able to gather near them without stopping traffic.

Lexa has her eye on a vintage candle holder that matches the new decor she’s trying out on her apartment back in Toronto, and she scans the room to find it before deciding to make her way through all the tables, talking to whoever is nearby. It’ll take longer, but she does have some serious ass kissing to do.

She doesn’t like it. Lexa has always despised sucking up to anyone, be it a teacher or Costia’s parents. It always left her with a bitter taste in her mouth, like she had to do it because she wasn’t good enough. But she forces herself to believe this is an exception to the rule - they’re raising funds for the pro-bono cases they’ll take on throughout the year and if looking at someone’s dog pictures is what it takes for them to be able to help people who can’t afford them, so be it.

Between a vase that is most certainly not worth everything they’re bidding on it and a hot balloon ride she thinks for a moment to bid on, Lexa must have came up with ten different ways to be vague about why she didn’t attend yesterday’s gala. She can’t really tell people that she couldn’t attend a gala at a children’s hospital because she was too busy getting fucked senselessly on her brother’s kitchen, but she does apologize for missing it, does thank everyone for coming.

This is where she thrives. Lexa can navigate dangerous conversations without thinking twice about her answers while managing to schedule meetings her clients have been avoiding for months. She can work on loosening up a few deals in hushed tones while she compliments a newborn that still looks very much like a knee, she can talk business while downing a glass of whiskey alright.

But her eyes are constantly searching for Clarke.

Whenever she gets too distracted with a client, she almost mindlessly glances back to Clarke to make sure she’s okay, only to find her laughing so hard she has to lean on Raven or thanking the waiter that brought her a new glass of wine.

Lexa takes a break from mingling to actually go over the vintage candle holder she wants and write down a bid. She makes a mental note to go back to it later, make sure hers is still the highest one - she wants it, she’ll fight anyone she has to and she’ll get it. Her eyes drift back to Clarke the moment she finishes writing, wondering what she’ll think of her newest acquisition, and Lexa finds her in deep conversation with Gustus, heads joined together, probably going over the details for those art lessons Clarke offered for his project towards the LGBT youth.

Their eyes meet and Clarke smile, crinkling up her nose in a “ _hello, there_ ”, but someone gets in her line of sight before Lexa can answer in kind.

“You’re a hard woman to find, Lexa Woods,” a low, raspy voice demands Lexa’s attention and she forces herself to focus on the person in front of her, tries to put a name to the face.

It doesn’t take more than a moment.

Echo Frost is one of her new clients - _her_ client, as Ms. Frost is so adamant in saying. Her pharmaceutical company had joined their client list a few months back when they were being sued by three different organizations over polluting a lake, which they absolutely did and to this day, it doesn’t sit right with Lexa that she had to defend them at all.

Echo had answered the invitation to the fundraiser with a solid maybe - she would be spending her holidays in New York, so she might show up, might not. Lexa forces the brightest smile she can manage, “I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

“Well, I was here yesterday, I was all dressed up just for you. Compared to yesterday, I might as well be wearing rags,” Echo’s plump lips twist into a pout and Lexa bites her tongue before saying more than she should. Echo is an incredibly attractive woman, objectively speaking - her legs go on for miles and her eyebrows seem always arched in just the right way to make her feel like she’s asking her back to her place - but there’s something in her hazel eyes that makes Lexa’s skin crawl.

“You do look very elegant, Echo,” Lexa tells her, because it’s the truth. Her dress has an intricate sleeve that keeps Lexa guessing how she even got inside it at all and a plunging neckline, but it contrasts well with the simple skirt, even if there’s a slit that shows enough of her thigh to be considered sinful, “Have you made a bid on any of our prizes yet?”

“Oh yes, I placed a pretty high bid on the trip to Venice,” Echo chuckles and touches Lexa’s arm, dragging her fingers up her biceps, “Such a romantic city, don't you think?” She tucks a loose strand behind Lexa’s ear in a bold move and Lexa clenches her jaw. A few months ago, she’d maybe entertain the idea, if only to keep a certain New York girl from her mind, but now she can’t even think about it, “And it's a trip for two, maybe I can get you to go with me.”

Lexa glances past Echo’s shoulder, finds Clarke glaring at them, takes a step back. She tries to joke it out, running her fingers through her locks, messing her updo completely, “I might be convinced if you get me dinner first.”

Lowering her voice and taking a step forward to close any distance between them, Echo leans in, her eyes piercing, “Tell me where and when and I’ll be there with roses and champagne.”

“If people hear you, they’ll think you actually mean it,” Lexa chuckles, turning to a waiter passing by to drop her now empty glass, ignoring how her fingers itch to get another one. She might join Clarke in the wine soon, might drag her to get a beer in a bar where no one knows them even sooner than that.

“I do mean it,” Echo insists, “You’re the one who won’t believe me.”

Lexa lets out a frustrated sigh. It’s not that uncommon to have clients flirting with her - she blames one or two TV series that put ridiculous ideas in their mind. But she can usually get them to back off playing the ‘I’m a huge lesbian, please back off’ card - not this time, and she doesn’t quite know how to handle the situation. “Echo, as much as it’s-”

“If you tell me you can’t date clients, I’ll take my business elsewhere,” Echo says in one breath, her voice still low, her eyes now glued to Lexa’s lips “I can find good lawyers in New York any day. A woman like you isn’t easy to find.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Lexa glances over Echo’s shoulder again, ready to plead for Clarke to rescue her - or Anya, or even Raven, she isn’t picky - only to find her girlfriend already marching towards them. From the fire in Clarke’s eyes, Echo hasn’t been as discreet as she thought. From the fire in Clarke’s eyes, Lexa doesn’t stand a chance in not falling even further in love with her.

She had the same look in her when she thought Roan had been hitting on Lexa and despite all better judgement, Lexa smiles - because it’s endearing, because it feels good to be in the receiving end of that kind of jealousy, the kind that might end up in punches if someone doesn’t back away quickly.

Reaching out her hand past Echo for Clarke to take it, Lexa smiles at her in a silent ‘ _thanks_ ’ and tugs her closer, turning once more to her unsavory client, “I’d like you to meet someone. Echo, this is-”

“Clarke.”

It’s Echo who says her name and Lexa turns just in time to see Clarke going several shades paler.

Lexa feels the very air around them holding still for a moment. She doesn’t need to look at Echo to know she’s smirking - because that’s who she is, because Lexa knows her well enough to know she worships chaos, so she doesn’t, simply focus on Clarke for a little while longer.

Clarke swallows, once and again, her eyes hardening the longer she stares at Echo. The way Clarke holds herself barely reminds Lexa of the girl laughing along with her newfound friends, teasing her girlfriend about her poor cooking skills, her smile so big Lexa couldn’t tell of the light blush of her cheeks was from the wine or all this blissful happiness.

It takes her a few beats to find her voice, “You two know each other?” Lexa can’t help the fear that creeps up her spine as she waits for an answer that seems to take an eternity to come.

She glances at Echo, who really is smirking and giving Clarke a dirty once over, before turning back when Clarke shifts beside her, holds her chin just a little bit higher, straightens her shoulders ever so slightly. Neither comment on the way her hand grows clammy against Lexa’s. “We’ve met,” she says, the honey-like warmth from her voice being all but a memory.

The meaning of it all hits Lexa slowly, then all at once.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Her lungs fail her, her legs are about to give up as well. _Fuck_. Lexa forces a shaky breath in and fights the sudden urge to wipe her palms on her pants, simply adjusts her grip on Clarke’s hand, intertwining their fingers. She gives it a light squeeze, which Clarke answers with one of her own - this will be enough to ground her, it’ll have to be enough. She wants to rewind and go back in time, to when something like this was just a distant possibility. Because they’re not ready for this.

They knew it would happen, that they would eventually meet a client who refused to be discreet. As much as they both had danced around actually talking about how to deal with this exact situation, they knew this would happen sooner or later.

But it’s much sooner than later.

They’re not ready for this, and Clarke grips her hand tighter. They’ll push through it, get their strength from each other, and they’ll be fine. But Lexa still prays to any gods willing to listen that the stoic face she’s putting on is actually a blank mask and not a canvas showcasing her every emotion. She prays that her voice doesn’t shake and her legs don’t give up on her - because she doesn’t know how to deal with it, she didn’t have any time to prepare herself for this, she has no idea how she’ll keep her heart from collapsing. She prays they make it out alive.

“Oh, we’ve done a lot more than that, Clarke,” Echo throws her head back, the glint in her eyes giving away her amusement over all this, malice dripping from every word, “But Lexa wouldn't know, right? I guess you don't talk about other clients with your, uh,” she peels her eyes from Clarke and looks at Lexa, flicking her gaze from her head to her toe, “ _date_ for the night.”

Lexa feels bile rising to her throat. “We are dating, Echo,” she speaks clearly and slowly - either to make sure Echo understands her or to keep herself from throttling her, Lexa isn’t sure.

“Yeah, sure, I know how it works,” Echo waves at her, her voice as dismissive as the rolling of her eyes. “Which surprises no one, let’s be honest, but you, Lexa?” She throws her hand out, gripping Lexa’s shoulder like an older brother would when they approve of something particularly spicy the younger one did. “I never thought you were that type of girl.” She leans in, close enough that her lips brushes on Lexa’s earlobe, close enough for Lexa to smell her sandalwood perfume. “It only makes me want you more. I can't wait to peel all your layers, and I do not mean just your clothes.”

The words ricochet against Lexa’s chest and she takes a stumbling step back, jerking her head back and out of Echo’s grasp. She tastes bile even with the much needed distance between them.

An image plagues her mind - Echo, wearing underwear or nothing at all, unbuckling jeans and pulling a shirt over someone else's head, backing a body up against a wall and pressing her lips against welcoming ones. What makes Lexa grimace in disgust is that she can't tell if it’s her or Clarke that Echo is undressing.

Clarke tugs at her hand, placing her other palm on the inside of her elbow, as if she could protect them both by just keeping her close - Lexa believes in it with all she's got. “What she means is that I'm her _girlfriend_ ,” Clarke says through gritted teeth, but Lexa still feels butterflies fluttering in her chest at that word - girlfriend. She doesn't think she’ll ever get over hearing Clarke call her that. “We’re in a relationship.”

“Really?” The surprise in Echo’s eyes as her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline is masked by the mocking tone of her voice. She pauses for a moment, gestures to a waiter passing nearby, grabs a drink. Something coils in Lexa’s stomach, and she runs her thumb on the back of Clarke’s hand, trying to give her a calm she doesn't feel. “Tell me, Clarke, when did you quit your job?” Echo says in between sips, the glass barely hiding her smirk, “We’ve seen each other, what, two months ago?”

Her stomach lurches, sways like a drunk sailor on a stormy sea.

Lexa shuts her eyes against the ever changing image in her mind - Echo kissing Clarke, kissing her neck, the vale between her breasts, her stomach, her thighs; Clarke reacting to the touch, arching her back, sighing softly in a dimly lit hotel room.

Opening her eyes a second later, Lexa looks at Clarke, only to find her eyes cast on the wall behind Echo, her jaw working behind tightly clasped lips. For the first time, Clarke looks ashamed of what she does for a living, of what brought them together in the first place, of what Echo’s question is bringing up.

“I haven't,” Clarke answers flatly, her voice more defeated than Lexa has ever heard her.

“Oh?” Echo pauses, her drink halfway to her lips, and stares at their joined hands. Lexa tightens her grip on her hand, a sense of protectiveness rushing through her - but then Echo starts _laughing_ , so wildly tears glisten in her eyes, “Oh, okay. Good luck to you both.” She chuckles out once her laughter dies down, taking a sip from her drink and sighing. “Oh wow, I did not expect to have this much fun tonight. Pray tell, how are you two working it out?”

“Echo, despite the laid back atmosphere, this is a business gathering,” Lexa reminds Echo as much as she reminds herself - this conversation has gone too far and she can’t seem to be able to reel it back in. And she needs to reel it back in herself, can’t ask Clarke to do it - not when her clammy hands are trembling on her arm, clinging onto her for dear life, “I hardly think it’s appropriate to talk about my girlfriend’s job.”

“I guess it is when I've had my fingers knuckle deep in her because of it.“

Lexa sees red.

Her entire body tingles with an urge to wipe that smug smile from Echo’s lips, to punch her hard enough she won’t be able to open her eye for a week, to break a bottle somewhere and slit her damn throat with it.

She sees red and wants nothing more than to see Echo covered in it.

But making a scene won’t help anyone. Even if she hasn’t felt this strongly about breaking someone’s bones in a long while, Lexa forces herself to breathe in and out once, twice, until she can see clearly again, forces herself to keep her senses, to not lose her mind.

Because she can feel Clarke’s nails digging into her skin. Because punching Echo will feel good for a solid second before the explanation about why she did it in the first place hurts Clarke more than Echo’s words do. Because Clarke is clinging to her like she’s the only thing keeping her upright.

Half of her, the half that is used to power plays and business meeting being decided in a split moment, begs her not to break eye contact with Echo, but she does it anyway, sneaks a glance to her side, takes Clarke in, says _fuck it_ to whatever Echo might take out of this gesture.

Because this is _Clarke_.

Clarke, who’s breathing in and out fast enough to make Lexa doubt she’s getting any oxygen. _Clarke_ \- the same Clarke that held her until she stopped crying when the memories of Costia she had worked so hard to bury came rushing back to her mind - is biting her lip with such strength it flashes white, looking so pale Lexa wonders where her blood went to.

Clarke doesn’t blink - if she blinks, the tears pooling in her bright blue eyes will roll down her cheeks. She doesn’t dare blink, she simply stares ahead, at Echo, with a mask shielding away her every emotion.

Lexa has never ached to take Clarke back home and shield her from the outside world like she does right now.

Untangling her arm from Clarke’s grasp - and trying to keep her heart from breaking when Clarke turns to her for only a moment, with sheer panic in her eyes -, Lexa wraps her arm around Clarke’s waist, pressing their bodies flushed together as she wills her voice to not shake, “That might just be the exact reason why it's so inappropriate.”

Lexa feels Clarke relax ever so slightly under her embrace, still shaking like a leaf in the wind, but just that much less, just enough to let Lexa know she’s doing the right thing.

For a moment, Lexa wants them both to forget Echo is still standing right in front of them and exist in their own bubble, where nothing exists but them, their stolen touches, their secret glances.

“Come on, we can all be grown ups about it,” Echo says with a sly smirk, tilting her glass towards Clarke. Lexa doesn't believe for a moment that Echo can deal with this situation like an adult, not when her eyes glimmer with utter mischief. Lexa barely believes she herself can carry a conversation without getting physical if Echo keeps making the same line of comments. Her hand presses more protectively around Clarke when Echo turns to look at her, looking much like a cartoon dog salivating over a roasted chicken, “When are you going back to work? Because I’d like to uh, schedule a meeting.”

The mere suggestion is enough to make Lexa seriously consider balling her fist and landing it right on her high cheekbones with enough force to shatter it to pieces - not that she has the strength to do that, but she’s ready to make up for it with the pure anger that seems to rush in her veins instead of blood.

Lexa wants to believe that the ugliness simmering in her stomach isn’t because of what Echo says. She could be happy - happy might be too strong of a word, but her brain fails her - for someone to have liked Clarke so much they want to, well, require her services once more. It’s not what Echo says, but how she says it, how each word drips with condescending self righteousness, how entitled to Clarke she sounds.

With as much discretion as she can, Lexa reaches out for Clarke’s hand and loosely links their fingers together, ignoring how cold they feel against her warm palm. This shouldn’t be happening, it cannot be happening. If it were anyone else, anyone with even the slightest sense of decency, it wouldn’t be happening at all. But Echo is something else entirely.

When neither answer - Clarke doesn’t seem to be able to and Lexa doesn’t trust her voice not to shake with all the anger pent up in her - Echo keeps going, her voice sickeningly sweet, “That is, if I can’t convince Lexa to go on a real date with me.”

“Unless you have a lawsuit over your head, I doubt we’ll be seeing much of each other,“ Lexa says through gritted teeth, almost grinding it down to powder.

“I can always mess with clinical trials, make sure something dirty comes my way,” Echo shrugs, as if doing that wouldn’t cause health problems in anyone - Lexa starts to wonder if she even has a conscience at all. She turns to Lexa, her eyebrows going up in a suggestive glare, “So we can have well, _meetings_ that last all night.”

The first thing she’s doing in Toronto is making sure she never represents her again. Or maybe, leaving her ass in jail the first time she has a chance and _then_ transferring her company over to whoever is willing to take it.

Her answer gets stuck in her throat when Clarke wiggles her fingers away from hers, steps aside until she’s free from Lexa’s tight embrace. Lexa turns to look at her, searching for any clues that might let her know what she should do, but all she finds is a stone wall. Setting her jaw straight again and smoothing her dress with a delicate sweep, Clarke excuses herself with a barely audible whisper.

Clarke spares one last look at Lexa before she leaves.

All she can focus on are the tears that have been welling up in her eyes now staining her cheeks.

Lexa watches as Clarke makes a beeline to the bathroom and decides to end whatever is left in this damn conversation so she can go to her, make sure she’s okay, ask if she wants to go home, order food in and forget this night ever happened. But the moment she turns to bid her goodbye to Echo, Lexa finds the woman standing dangerously close.

“This won't last, Lexa,” Echo says in a low voice, her breath nearly hitting Lexa’s cheek with how little space is left between then, “And I'm not saying this just because I want you. I’m saying it because I know Clarke, I know her kind, and you're just not meant for that kind of thing.”

“You don't know her, not like I do,” Lexa spits out, her anger growing exponentially now that Clarke isn’t beside her to keep her grounded.

“How long has this been going on?” Echo asks in such a worried voice Lexa almost believes her - until her frown turns into a smirk. Apparently, Lexa’s stunned silence is answer enough for Echo. “Yeah, that's what I thought,” she draws her own conclusions, placing her hand almost gently on her elbow, but falling short, “Give it time, you’ll get tired of her soon. When you do, you have my number.”

Lexa yanks her arm from Echo’s grasp, sparing her one last glare before turning on her heels. She doesn’t bother with an answer, not when she knows it’ll land flat on her ears. Echo is clearly having a lot of fun with this, the glint in her eyes telling Lexa everything she needs to know, so there’s no use arguing with her, no use trying to prove to her that they’re worth it, that they’re stronger than whatever she says.

It takes her a moment to get her feet working again, but Lexa forces herself to put one foot in front of the other, take a few steps in whatever direction they lead her. She needs to put some space between her and Echo, between her and the idea of anyone else touching Clarke.

She focuses on the waiter coming her way, zooming in on the last whiskey on his trail, ignoring all the different types of fruity cocktails no one has touched yet. Lexa grabs it like it’s a life source and downs it in one big gulp, setting the empty glass on a nearby table - that has that ridiculously expensive vase in it, but Lexa isn’t above littering when her nerves seem to be about to pop free from her skin.

It shouldn’t bother her.

It’s Clarke’s job and it shouldn’t bother her.

She knew that’s what she did for a living when she met Clarke, when she fell in love with her, so it shouldn’t bother her.

But it does.

Taking a deep breath in, Lexa holds onto the table to keep herself steady and frowns against her treacherous mind - it comes up with images upon images that blend together in a messy movie of everything she’s pushed down for the past few days, everything her head told her and she ignored while she listened only to her heart.

Because Lexa vaguely remembers some personal details Echo shared in their meetings that did go well into the night - despite Echo’s quirked eyebrows, the most excited thing that happened in those meetings was coffee at two in the morning while they poured over anything that would prove her company to be anything less than absolutely guilty. But she remembers Echo, still dressed in a pencil skirt and flowy blouse that charmed all her customers, whining about wasting a Friday night at the office instead of taking some girl out to dinner before they “ate out”. The pun had stuck with Lexa, as bad as it was, but now she wonders if one of those girls was ever Clarke.

And she remembers how Clarke knew exactly what to say when Lexa asked her to pretend to be her girlfriend for the holidays - because she had done it before, she reminds herself, she had done it before with someone else. And she might need to do it again with someone new, and Lexa will have to be okay with it.

She’ll have to be okay with someone taking Clarke out to dinner and introducing her as their girlfriend - or wife or fiancée or date, but it was the _their_ , the possessive pronoun that didn’t belong there, that made Lexa’s stomach turn. She’ll have to be okay with someone else making Clarke laugh, someone else tucking Clarke’s hair behind her ear in a delicate moment that no one else sees, someone else holding her hand, someone else kissing her lips, someone else undressing her-

Lexa had made her peace - more or less, as much as she would ever anyway - with Clarke having sex with someone else. But she hadn’t anticipated how deeply it stung to realize someone might share more than just those few moments with Clarke.

Like she’s been doing ever since her eyes first laid on Clarke, Lexa decides to ignore all that until she absolutely has to deal with it. It’s hardly the more sensible choice, considering doing that just came back to bite her in the ass, but she can’t pour over her feelings in the middle of a fundraiser.

Besides, she needs to find Clarke.

Pushing away from the table, Lexa scans the room for a moment, looking for familiar blonde hair among the sea of dressed up people going from pleasantly tipsy to embarrassingly drunk at an alarming rate. She makes a mental note to ask the waiters to slow down their rounds - they need that sweet spot where people are just embriagated enough to open their wallets - as she makes her way to the front of the room where Gustus stands. She goes to him not much for the company he offers as it is for the vantage point his position in the front of the room gives her to overlook the party and find Clarke again.

He gushes over how lovely Clarke is and what a great match she is to Lexa as soon as she’s close enough to hear it. Lexa barely registers half his words, can hardly recall any of them - something about Clarke helping him out with his project with the LGBT youth in New York, but she’s so worried about Clarke all she can do is nod along and hope she’s doing it at the right times

Her breath catches in her throat when she _finally_ finds Clarke. She watches her leaving the bathroom, pausing for a moment before walking towards Anya’s general direction - Raven and Anya are both talking to someone Lexa remembers seeing in their office halls a few months back, but can’t put a name to the face. When Clarke refuses to look away from the spot on the wall she’s been staring at, Lexa rushes through her excuses and leaves Gustus halfway through a sentence.

While she makes her way to Clarke in large strides, Lexa finds herself slowing down the closer she gets. She doesn’t know what to say, where to begin, how she can make it better. To say this is uncharted territory for her is putting it lightly, but she pushes through her doubts at the same time she pushes through the crowd to get to Clarke.

Lexa touches the small of her back, careful not to startle her. Clarke must have been deep in thoughts, because she jumps ever so slightly nonetheless, the dark wine in her recently filled glass sloshing dangerously close to the brim, and turns to face Lexa. For a moment, Lexa doesn't say anything, just takes Clarke in - her smile is too tight to be real, it doesn't reach her eyes and her tear stained cheeks give away why she took so long in the bathroom.

“I’m sorry about Echo,” Lexa starts, her voice low as she gently presses her hand to Clarke’s waist “If I had known-” _she was also your client, I'd have stayed the fuck away from her and avoided an awful situation like the plague,_ “If I had known she’d behave like that, I wouldn’t have even bothered to greet her.”

“You had to,” Clarke doesn't meet her eyes and as much as Lexa wants to look into her eyes to make sure she means it, she doesn't force it.“You two work together, it’s fine.”

The flatness of her voice tells Lexa this entire situation is a world away from _fine._

“I’ll find a way to get Gustus or Anya or someone else to look after her affairs,” Lexa promises and hopes it's not empty. She knows Echo searched their firm because they have a background in environmental defense, but she's very aware _she_ is the reason why Echo stayed with them long after that particular case was done. “Until then, I’ll make sure our relationship is nothing but professional.”

“If she’s willing to mess up clinical trials just to get to sit in the same room as you, you should hold on to her,” Clarke says and pauses, takes a sip from her wine. At least, she’s drinking. At the very least, Clarke hasn't turned this into a work meeting the moment she saw Echo. Lexa takes her victories where she can, choosing to ignore what double meaning Clarke’s words might hold, “At the very least, she seems like a profitable client.”

“She’s had too much to drink,” Lexa says without believing it. Echo didn't seem drunk, she seemed determined - to either get into Lexa’s pants or under Clarke’s skin. “I’ve known her for a while and she flirts a lot and with everyone, but never this aggressively.”

“It doesn’t bother me that she was flirting with you,” Clarke says point-blank, her fingers wrapping tighter around her wine glass as her eyes finally meet Lexa’s.

Lexa frowns, “It doesn’t?”

Clarke works her jaw, looks away for a moment before turning back to Lexa. “I mean, it _does_. That’s why I went over to you two in the first place,” she admits and Lexa wants to hate the new found warmth in her belly - it feels good to know she’s not the only one freaking out with the mere thought of someone else even trying anything. “I hadn’t seen it was her, I just wanted her to stop touching you.”

Her smile creeps up on her, “She does get, uh, _touchy_ way too often.” Lexa doesn’t add to it, simply holds Clarke’s face in between her palms, holding her gaze, “But I’d never engage in anything. You know that, don’t you?”

“Are you asking me if I’m worried you’ll be faithful? You’ve given me no reason to doubt you, Lex,” Clarke says, her hand wrapping around Lexa’s wrist, tugging her palms away from her face, “But yeah, maybe you should go for it.”

Lexa lets her arms fall uselessly to her sides, “What?”

“Maybe you should go out on a date with her, let her take you somewhere fancy where you both belong,” her voice is choked and she keeps her eyes in the wine she’s gripping with so much force her knuckles are almost white and it’s a miracle there aren’t shards of glass flying everywhere. “You two are from the same world, probably have a lot in common.” Clarke glances up and Lexa sees the tears welling up in her eyes, “You’d like her.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Lexa says and it takes her by surprise the way her voice cracks, “Where the hell is this coming from?”

Clarke doesn't answer right away. She loosens her grip on her wine glass, sets it down on a table nearby, wraps her arms around her middle. Lexa wants to tangle her fingers around hers, wants to hold Clarke until she knows they're okay, but Clarke builds up a wall too fast for Lexa to keep up - even if she sees each brick being laid down, on top of another, shielding her away.

“You’d be able to walk hand in hand with her without being afraid of someone coming up to you and throwing in your face everything they’ve done with your girlfriend’s body,” her voice is distant, matching the way her shoulders are drawn back, her chin tilted up. The only thing that gives away that Clarke doesn't mean a single word of everything is saying are the tears rolling down her cheek. “You deserve that, Lex.”

“I don’t care about that, Clarke,” Lexa ignores the way her voice shakes with a desperation she barely knows why she's feeling - she's desperate because Clarke isn't making sense, because Clarke is throwing her into someone else’s arms and Lexa doesn't understand why. “Don’t you get it? I want you, no matter what.” She closes the space between them, cupping the back of Clarke’s neck, placing her free hand on her waist to draw her closer. Still, Clarke doesn't move, doesn't do anything other than tighten her grip around herself. “This is as uncomfortable as meeting an ex girlfriend. Nothing more.”

Clarke blinks and averts her eyes to the ceiling, either to stop her tears or to avoid Lexa’s pleading eyes, “Except she's not an ex girlfriend. She's a client and-”

“Woods!” Anya shouts from behind Lexa, blindly grasping at her sleeve and tugging her away from Clarke before she finds her voice to protest. “I had to hear Nyko going on and on about his cabbages yesterday. You’re on it tonight.” Lexa barely finds her footing fast enough to stumble backwards and let Anya pull her away without falling flat on her face. “You can make heart eyes at your girlfriend later, okay? I need you, I won’t survive it again.”

Clarke steps back, her arms still wrapped around her waist, her shoulders hunching forward, and looks at Lexa again. She sees blue eyes swimming in unshed tears, she sees her pain reflected in them. Her brows furrow in a silent question, but all Clarke does is bow her head and turn away from her. _Oh_.

It takes Lexa a moment to peel her eyes away from Clarke and focus on putting one foot in front of the other, but she does, she does.

Taking the fresh drink that Anya shoves into her hands with a whispered “ _you’ll need it_ ”, Lexa swallows down the knot growing in her throat and washes it down with whiskey. What she needs is to go back to Clarke and understand what she means, what she wants, but Anya pushes her forward, towards a tall man with a bushy beard and a threatening glower - no one would ever imagine he gets as excited about his vegetables as he does.

With one last look behind, Lexa sees Clarke quietly slipping outside.

She grits her teeth and shakes Nyko’s hand. Between doing this a million times before and knowing Nyko will carry most of the conversation, Lexa falls into autopilot, nodding and humming whenever it fits, letting her mind wander and worry about Clarke.

They’ve only just began.

They started dating a few days ago, they had their official first date _yesterday_. They have so much left to do, so many firsts to experience, a million of stories to make.

Lexa wants to take Clarke to her favorite restaurant in Toronto, the one near a park that stays open until late enough that they could take a walk by the lake, listen to the violin player that plays there almost every weekend. She wants to do a tourist tour in New York, kiss Clarke on top of the Empire State Building, hold her hand as they walk past a busy street on their way to the movies.

She wants to see what Clarke looks like with her eyes glued shut after running a fever through the night, angry after a fight that neither remember why started, sulking because she can't get a drawing to look the way she wants, so sleepy she can barely hold her head up for long enough to drink her coffee. She wants to build memories they'll share for years to come. She wants to build a life with Clarke, filled with peaceful moments caught in a hectic week, with shared glances across a crowd, with hidden smiles meant just for the other.

Nothing is too big for them to conquer, that's all Lexa needs for Clarke to understand. She needs Clarke to realize that she's in it for the long haul, for thick and thin, for whatever comes. Because she fell for Clarke all those months ago - now she can admit it to herself, she can admit that she started to fall for Clarke the moment Lexa saw her staring out the window in that early spring evening - and she isn’t about to let one sour encounter with a client take it away from her.

They’ll talk - because that's what they need, to get it all in the open, to find the right balance between work and personal life. They’ll talk about it and actually talk, not postpone such an important conversation like this and hope for the problem to go away on its own whenever it shows up - because they're doing it right now, because it ended up with Clarke crying in the bathroom and Lexa not hearing a single word of what Nyko said. They’ll talk and Lexa will react better than she did with Echo.

They’ll talk, they'll put all cards on the table and decide how the answer to “ _how was your day, babe?_ ” is going to go - does she need a detailed description to keep herself sane, to keep her mind from coming up with the worst of scenarios or will a “ _it was okay_ ” suffice? Because if Lexa is going to see it as nothing but another job, she needs to give Clarke the freedom to vent after a bad day as much as she wants to when a client pisses her off - but the same way she won’t disclosure important details about what legal troubles her clients are going through, Clarke will keep some of it away, whatever Lexa doesn’t need to know.

All in all, if Clarke has an orgasm, that’s a good day at work.

Lexa needs to keep that mindset so they can work through their insecurities, so she can believe without the shadow of a doubt that everything she does at work, from unabashed sex to cheerful conversation over dinner, is nothing more than a performance. She’ll get the real Clarke, the one who ties her hair up in a bun when she's painting and sleeps spread out like a starfish when she's too exhausted, the one who plays with her food when she's done eating and traces the tattoos on her back before they fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms.

Nyko lets out a belly laughter and Lexa forces herself to chuckle along. She’s pretty sure he was telling her about his dog chasing away the birds that tried to eat his snap peas, but she’s been too distracted to even pretend she can come up with a decent answer. Instead, she lets her laughter dies down with his, presses her palm against his arm and squeezes it gently, excusing herself with a smile.

Taking a few steps to the side, Lexa settles her empty glass down on the tray of a waiter passing by and goes up to her tip toes, scanning the crowd for Clarke. There’s no sign of her and Lexa fights her every instinct as a little voice tells her that Clarke bailed on her. It’s a reasonable option, one that hardly seems born out of desperation as much as out of self defense. Lexa knows that she would be sitting in the backseat of a cab, halfway through the city by now if she were in Clarke’s place. In fact, this is what Lexa wants to do right now - she just needs to find Clarke so they can both be in a cab in five minutes flat.

Her mind goes a thousand miles, thoughts coming and going without her registering much as she tries to clear a path to the door. Between pausing to say hello to someone she missed earlier and a few clients asking her opinion on a piece, Lexa locks eyes with Echo - it takes her all she has to ignore her smirk and raised eyebrows and nearly flees the room.

Once she’s outside, it doesn’t take her long to find Clarke. She had made her way to the lobby, to the tall windows that oversee the street, nearly empty at this hour, but still just busy enough to be distracting. With the snow beginning to fall, settling gently in every crook and crease it can find, Clarke looks straight out of a Christmas movie with her hair neatly coiffed and arms wrapped around her waist.

Smiling to herself, at how sappy she’s become in only a handful of days, Lexa walks towards Clarke. Her heels clack loudly against the linoleum floor, any hope of making it to Clarke unheard gone before she even makes it halfway through the distance. Lexa looks out the window as she closes the space between them, focusing on the over excited little boy with his mittens in between his teeth as he plays with the fresh snow. It’s a sight Lexa hopes she’ll be a part of someday, hopes Clarke will be there with her.

Clarke looks at her a moment before Lexa settles her hand on the small of back, because of course she heard her approaching. Lexa presses a kiss on her temple, lingering for a second longer than she normally would, and breathes her in - she still smells like she did this morning, wrapped in her arms and covered in sleep, and that calms Lexa somehow. Clarke turns around, but doesn’t smile at her.

“I told you we are gonna end in heartache, Lex,” Clarke says, her voice strained, catching in her throat and Lexa feels her smile fading away, all the momentary calm that the snowfall had brought leaving her in one fell swoop, “This is it.“

“It's not.” Panic settles slowly in her core, and Lexa can’t find any reason to convince herself it shouldn’t be there.

“It is,” Clarke says more steadily than before and draws her shoulders back, turns to meet Lexa’s gaze. Nothing prepares her for the fierce determination in Clarke’s eyes - even if tears are welling up in them, even if Lexa knows that it’ll take one blink for them to roll down her cheek, there’s something decisive looming behind it all.  “This is it for us, don’t you get it?”

Her voice leaves her for longer than she cares to count, but she refuses to go down without a fight, refuses to go down at all. Lexa swallows her fear and pushes through the lump in her throat. “We knew this would happen.” Her fingers tingle as she trails them up Clarke’s arms, across her collarbone and cups her face, her thumbs resting on her cheeks, ready to catch any tears that might tumble down, “We’ll be fine, Clarke.”

Clarke shakes her head, “We won't. _I_ won't.” The emphasis she gives to the word worries Lexa as much as the way Clarke peels her palms away from her face does, “What happened with Echo has happened before. Believe me, I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of clients thinking they can shame me for what I do.” Clarke takes a step back, putting a distance between them that Lexa never wants to exist. “I’ve always had a comeback ready. Something quirky or sassy or just polite, I- I’ve always knew what to say, how to handle things. But with Echo, with _you_ -”

Clarke pauses.

It could have been for a moment or an hour, Lexa wouldn’t be able to tell. For the second time that evening, her arms hang dumbly beside her, her heart hammering in her chest without her knowing how to calm it. She tries to breathe, but images of Clarke having to fight off clients makes it hard to get any air in her lungs. She tries to breathe, but Clarke doesn’t want Lexa to touch her, to comfort her, and that makes it hard for her to even remember how to get air in her lungs.

Clarke inhales sharply, her hand flying to her hair before she remembers her updo and settles to press her palm against her forehead, her eyes falling closed, “I couldn't _think_ ,” Clarke croaks out, “I couldn't breathe because I knew she was right.”

Lexa wants to reach out, to wrap her arms around Clarke, to wipe away the tears rushing down now, but stops herself, balls her hands in a fist. She pours as much certainty in her voice as she can, “She is not right, Clarke.”

“She is.” Clarke wraps her arms around her waist again, gripping the navy fabric of her dress so fiercely her knuckles flash white. “She's into you and we had a date two months ago and we might as well fuck two months from now. There's nothing stopping her from hiring me.” The words feel like a slap, but Lexa bites her lips, urging herself to stay quiet. This isn’t the place for this conversation, but there’s no stopping Clarke, “I can't go up to the agency and say hey, I can't fuck this person because my girlfriend knows her. It doesn't work like that.”

“I'm not asking yo-”

“It's uncomfortable for me too, Lexa!” Clarke shouts, her voice ricocheting from the walls, echoing inside Lexa. “It bothers me too,” she lowers her voice, as if it had weakened, as if all the strength she’s been trying to hold on to is fleeing, as if Clarke herself is deflating. “I know you're trying to be okay with it, and I love you for that, but it's hard for me too.”

For a moment, all Lexa can focus on is the almost offhanded way Clarke says “I love you” - like they’re an old couple who had said these words countless times before, but still mean it every time, like saying that isn’t something new to them, like they’re past dipping their toes in the water and now dive in head first.

Her stomach swims in the same liquid warmth that flooded her yesterday, when she heard those words for the first time. But then it twists and something coils tightly when Lexa realizes just what she heard.

 _It’s hard for me too_.

It had never crossed Lexa’s mind that Clarke might have issues with her job.

She had been so adamant in telling Lexa she liked it, she was good at it, she wasn’t about to give everything she had worked so hard to build for someone she wasn’t sure would last. Clarke had told her over and over again that she wanted to keep working as an escort that Lexa can’t help but being taken aback by her words.

 _It bothers me too_.

It makes sense, if Lexa thinks about it.

As much as it’s a profession like any other, where one has good and bad days, where one has clients they grow fond of and clients they want to throttle, it’s still something that is easier to people who have no strings attached. Because it might all be a performance, but Clarke still has to tweak the inner works of her heart and her mind and her soul to make sure sex doesn’t become intimacy, to make sure playing a part doesn’t turn into friendship, to make sure no lines within herself are blurred.

Lexa blinks and the words tumble out of her mouth before she can think them through, “Then quit.”

Clarke snaps her head up and Lexa swears a tear stops half way down her cheek in surprise, “What?”

“Quit your job. Work on your art. Open a gallery in Toronto.” Lexa barely breathes in between sentences, barely remembers how to suck in oxygen to her lungs. A plan rushes to take form in her mind - a plan, a dream, that might have been in the making for a while, but she never allowed it to take root until now.

Clarke opening an art gallery down the street from where Lexa works, the both of them having lunch among Clarke’s paintings, between laughter and kisses. Lexa rushing down from court to make it in time for the big opening, to see all the prospective buyers drooling over the masterpieces. A champagne bottle being popped open after the first sell, after their first anniversary, after they buy their own house.

“I-” Clarke opens and closes her mouth, looking for words that aren’t coming, “ _What_?”

“If keeping up with your job will be this hard and if- if you think we’re worth it, then quit.” A small part of Lexa wonders if she’s pushing her luck, putting something as new as their relationship at a stake like this, “You can dedicate all your time to your gallery, to your art. You already sold a painting to one of the lawyers, you can sell more.” Lexa knows Clarke could charm any lawyer in her firm and a few clients as well to buy her art, and her mind is distracted by that when the next words come spilling out of her mouth. “You could move in with me, we could start fresh.”

Lexa grits her teeth, waiting for Clarke to answer, giving her time to gather her thoughts. She has always made fun of Anya for moving too fast with a girl, only to end in a screaming match and clothes being thrown out of moving cars a few weeks later. Now she’s standing in a hotel lobby, asking the girl she’s known for a week to move in with her in another damn country.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel rushed. It feels _right_.

They both could use a new beginning, a new way to leave the past behind them.

Clarke shakes her head, her eyes wide and painfully blue - either from her tears or her fears, Lexa can’t tell, “It doesn't work like this.”

“It could. If you want to,” Lexa says, softly now, pacing herself. She digs whatever courage is left in her gut and takes a step forward, “I can invest in your gallery to tide you over until you can keep it on your own.”

Clarke takes a step back, “I don’t want your money. I don’t-” Between Clarke’s crinkled brows and raised hands, Lexa pauses and Clarke covers her face with her palms for a moment before looking at her again, “Lexa, this is- it's too much, too fucking fast.“

“Okay. I got carried away, let’s take a breath,” Lexa says and breathes in, watches Clarke doing the same. “I’m not telling you to do it all right now. I’m just asking for you to think about it,” her voice is quiet, because she wants Clarke to know that she means it, every single word. “You have options. I don't want you to think that you don't.”

A thousand emotions flash across Clarke’s face, too fast for Lexa to name them.

Lexa chews on her bottom lip, waiting, waiting, waiting. Clarke stares at her - unblinking, jaw hanging slightly open - until her eyes drift away, to the floor in between them, to the quiet night outside that still follows its course despite their conversation. Scoffing in what Lexa can barely pinpoint as disbelief, Clarke runs her fingers through her hair, not caring that it messes up what took her a solid hour to put together.

When Clarke meets her gaze again, Lexa sees new paths in her tear stained cheeks. Before Lexa can think better of it, she closes the distance between them, wipes her thumb across her cheek, catches a fresh tear before it can roll down - because Clarke doesn’t have to bear it all alone anymore.

“We started wrong, Lexa. We-” Clarke shakes her head in between Lexa’s palms, closing her eyes against Lexa’s worried gaze, “We started wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Lexa wraps her hand around Clarke’s neck, brushing wisps of hair back to their places, “Babe, what are you talking about?” The nickname falls from her lips like it’s nothing, like it’s something she’s used for years - and she realizes, she can very much get used to it.

Lexa is so focused on her new found love for that nickname - it sounds so soft, so intimate - that she almost misses the way Clarke wraps her arms around herself once more, tighter this time, almost misses how her eyes shine bright with unshed tears. “It’d be different if we had met in a coffee shop and then started dating,” Clarke says, her voice strained, but more certain than she was expecting, “You’re a client- “

Her hands fly away from Clarke like she’s been burned, “I’m a _client_.”

“You are. Technically, you’re still paying me for this very fucking night,” Clarke takes a step back and Lexa doesn’t follow her, simply watches the harsh way she wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand, tilting her chin up in a defiant glare, “We started this entire thing as a business, and I’m not saying we couldn’t work through this if we really tried, but I’m-

“Wait,” Lexa interrupts, cold dread rooting her in place, “Then what _are_ you saying?”

“I'm saying I can't do this.”

Her throat closes and she can’t swallow past it, she can only stare ahead as something cold and painful trickle down to her stomach. She clings to whatever conclusion she can jump to that isn’t what she thinks it is, “Do you mean tonight? Because we can ditch everyone and go-”

“No, Lexa,” Clarke sighs heavily and closes her eyes for a fraction of second too long for it to be considered a blink, “I don’t mean tonight.”

Her blood turns to ice and Lexa stays rooted in her spot, hands hanging, shoulders drooping. If breathing in and out feels like a chore, she tries not to show. Instead, she watches as Clarke turns away from her and towards the street - that still buzzes with the handful of people passing by, carrying on with their evenings. She wipes at her cheeks, more gently now, making sure to swipe away any smudged mascara as best as she can without any mirrors.

By the time she deems her work done, Lexa is wiping her clammy hands on her slacks, trying to keep herself together. Clarke simply stretches her arm out, asking for Lexa’s hand, wrapping her palm around hers, “Come on, let’s go inside. We’ll talk later.”

Lexa has seen more than her fair share bad romantic comedies - for all her bone structure and death glare, Anya is a big sap when it comes to movies - and she knows “ _we’ll talk later_ ” is almost never a good thing to hear. It means “ _we’re in a public place and I don’t want to cause a scene,_ ” it means “ _our conversation will be too long, we need somewhere where we can kick our shoes off and cry to our heart's content,_ ” it means every bit of good news that “ _we need to talk_ ” carries.

If Clarke keeps their palms together and doesn’t intertwines their fingers, Lexa tries to think nothing of it, tries to come up with an excuse different than what her heart yells to her.

But Lexa breathes and let Clarke pull her back inside because they need to get through the damn night without breaking down to pieces. Anya is already ushering everyone to their tables in a separate side of the room, making any last minute changes before they start announcing whoever got their prizes. Lexa feels relief sloshing in her stomach along side with worry - at least they’ll have something to focus their attention on, something other than each other, something other than ex clients and future lovers.

The night crawls.

Drinks still flow freely, although the waiters have orders to avoid certain tables, but Clarke doesn’t take a single sip from hers. Lexa switches to water and sulks when they announce the candle holder she wanted - it got sold for little more than she bid and she has half a mind to search whoever made the higher bid and try to buy it from them, but she finds herself exhausted.

The night crawls and Lexa still has so much to do before slipping into her cozy blankets - there’s a little voice in her head that wonders if Clarke will be in her arms.

When their town car pull up near the curb at the end of the night, Lexa opens the door for Clarke, biting her tongue to keep herself from saying anything when Clarke slides across the seat until she’s leaning against the door, putting as much distance between them as possible. It’s a far cry from earlier in the evening, from how Clarke wrapped herself around Lexa, trailing her fingers up and down her arms, not an inch in between them.

Still, Lexa tries. “Are we going to your place?” She has the way there memorized already, knows the street name and what it’ll look like at this time. They’ve been there less than a handful of times, but Lexa feels at home there. She wants nothing more than to feel at home right now.

Clarke shakes her head and turns away from Lexa, watching the snow gathering on the sidewalk through the rolled up window. “We better go to the hotel.”

The drive lasts hours. They hit every red light, every stop sign has someone to cross it, and Clarke doesn’t look at her once. As the snow makes the road slippery and the driver more careful, Lexa resents herself to stare out of her window for the next half hour, pretending this is a lonely car ride she’s done countless times before, pretending Clarke isn’t there, pretending Clarke doesn’t ignore her until their car pulls up in front of her hotel.

She busies herself trying to remember details from the Abernathy case and what she has to do for the O’Connor one before Anya asks for her head on a plate, even considers reaching into her purse and getting her phone to check her emails, but nothing distracts her from the fact Clarke is glued to the door, as if she couldn’t stand to be an inch closer to Lexa.

Lexa thanks the driver and slides out the car, glancing back to see if Clarke is behind her. But no, of course not. Clarke climbs out the other door, shoves it closed and shoves her hands in the pockets of her coat, looking at her feet as they make their way to the lobby, past it, towards the elevators. Lexa mimics her - because she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, because not having Clarke’s fingers intertwined with hers feels strange.

Lexa closes her eyes as she leans against the closed front door for a moment. She breathes in, breathes out. She’s never done this before - she’s never even _fought_ with Costia, let alone beg for her not to leave her. Their story got interrupted, cut short by a cruel twist of fate, so Lexa never had this. She doesn’t know how to do this.

But she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try her hardest.

With a deep breath that almost hurts as her ribs expand, Lexa pushes away from the door, gathering courage to meet Clarkin the living room. She takes her time shedding her coat and jacket, neatly hanging them side by side, popping the first couple of buttons from her blouse open, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows. By the time she steps down from her heels and tucks them out of the way, Lexa feels marginally calmer, a sliver braver than she did a moment ago.

She walks into the living area to find Clarke sitting on the middle of the couch, hunched over with her elbows on her knees, her face leaning heavily on her palm. Her entire body aches to go over and sit down on the couch beside Clarke, wrap her arms around her and pull her closer until there’s nothing but their breaths between them. But she knows - and maybe that’s what makes it ache even more - that Clarke wouldn’t want her to do any of that.

So Lexa waits. She shoves her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking and waits. She wants to say something, wants to end the heavy silence that clings to her skin like sweat in a humid summer day, but doesn’t even know what she could start with - _please don’t end us_ is everything she can conjure up, and she can’t get herself to utter the words.

A minute - or an hour, Lexa can’t tell - later, Clarke peels her face from her hands, stares at the Russian novel still on the coffee table where she left it, “I had a system, Lexa. I knew how to keep everything apart, locked inside their own separate little box.” Clarke lifts her eyes to meet Lexa’s, “I had a system and then you came and fucked everything up.”

“What-” _what did I do wrong?_ Is what Lexa wants to ask, but she bites her tongue, shuffles closer to Clarke, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not ready to be an escort and have a girlfriend,” Clarke says in a small voice and Lexa takes the leap, sits beside her. She keeps her distance, only their knees barely touching when all Lexa wants is to reach for her hands, cling it between hers, “I thought I was. I thought it’d be easier.”

“We knew it wouldn’t be.” Lexa says it because they did know it and keeps her tone soft enough as if not to remind them both that they knew it, but did nothing to prepare themselves for it.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it’d be this hard this early.” Clarke rubs the heels of her hands over her eyes, smudging her makeup ever so slightly, adding to how tired she looks.

Wriggling her hands together to physically stop herself from reaching out to Clarke, Lexa thinks back to their night, to how smoothly things were going before the party. She thought they’d have more time. She really thought they’d be able to enjoy the holidays and figure out a way to be together surrounded by the quiet certainty that they belong together.

The idea that maybe Lexa was the only one who thought that makes her insides twist.

“Is it because of what Echo said?”

The name sparkle something in Clarke’s eyes - fear, disgust, surprise, Lexa can’t pinpoint one emotion - but she blinks it away,“A little. I mean, she was a trigger but it’s more than that.” Clarke sounds like she might give up and Lexa refuses to accept that.

“If not Echo, then what changed so much in the last, what, six hours to make you want to throw everything out the window?” Her voice is hard and colder than she means for it to be, but Lexa wants to understand - if she understands it, she can fix it.

Clarke doesn’t answer for a long time.

She sits there, avoiding Lexa’s gaze, mapping each detail in the cover of that Russian novel that Lexa wants to burn right then and there. For a moment, Lexa imagines Clarke reaching out for it, kicking off her shoes and curling up on the couch to read it while Lexa orders something for them to eat and find pajamas for both of them. It’s a pipe dream and Lexa knows it, it makes the thought sting just that little bit more.

Biting back those impossible thoughts for the moment, Lexa wonders if maybe she asked too much from Clarke, pressured her into giving everything up too fast, if maybe everything she’s doing is only helping to push her further away.

“I don’t know how to be a girlfriend,” Clarke begins, her voice barely there, “I’ve never knew. I wasn’t made for it. I’m good at faking it, that’s why I charge people so much for it.” She chuckles, but there’s no humor to it, “But when it comes to the day to day of it, I don’t know what to do, how to- I’m shit at it.“

Being scared senseless of ruining something that feels this good is a familiar feeling to Lexa. “I haven’t had a girlfriend in, _god_ , in forever. I don’t even know if I know how to be one anymore.” And she had had exactly one girlfriend, so Lexa can’t even be sure if she ever knew how to. Between dinner dates made out of noodles and such an abrupt ending to it all, she can only hope she did. “But we can learn, together.”

“No, we can’t,” Clarke straightens up, and turns to Lexa, her jaw set hard, her eyes narrowing, trying to convey a coldness that isn’t quite within reach yet, “I don’t want to. The last time I tried it, I was left alone in an abortion clinic. I can’t do that again.”

“You won’t have to,” Lexa takes Clarke’s hands within hers before she can think twice, the thought of what Clarke went through making her stomach lurch. “I won’t leave you like that. You know that”.

Clarke peels her hands away from Lexa’s grasp. “You say it now, he did it too.”

Bile threatens to rise up to her throat and Lexa breathes out sharply. “Don’t compare me to him. You know we’re nothing alike.” She doesn’t know Finn personally, but knows very well she wouldn’t coerce Clarke into doing something she doesn’t want to, something that means that much to her.

“Do I? We’ve known each other for what, ten days?” Clarke gets up in one swoop motion, towering above Lexa. A humorless, almost mocking chuckle leaves Clarke’s throat and echoes within Lexa. “I was with him for months. He still left me.”

There’s a pull deep inside Lexa and it stings, it hurts, and she doesn’t fight the tears welling up in her eyes, only barely manages to croak out her words, “Do you feel for me what you felt for him?”

“Don’t make me answer that,” Clarke spares her a single glance before walking away, running her fingers through her hair, messing up what’s left of her updo. She sighs and closes her eyes, turns away from Lexa, wraps her arms around herself.

Lexa doesn’t know what it means.

She doesn’t know what any of it means - she does, she does, but she doesn’t want to accept it.

Wiping at the stubborn tears that insist on falling down her cheeks, Lexa forces herself to get up, even if her legs are threatening to give up on her. She takes a single step towards Clarke, keeping her distance, giving her the distance she needs.

“How can you be so sure we’ll fall apart, Clarke?” Lexa curses herself for how shaky her voice sounds, how it breaks around the edges. She needs to convince Clarke she’s strong enough to get through it all with her, and a trembling voice isn’t the way to do it. “You’re going into this already bracing yourself for the end.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship that _didn’t_ crumble?” Clarke turns to her, throws her hands out in an angry gesture before pulling them back to her side, her chin held high. If Lexa squints, she can almost see Clarke turning a switch inside her, a professional mask falling over her tear stained cheeks, “So, here’s what we can do. I’ll honor our contract, I’ll stay until the New Years. We can have some fun, I can play along. Then we go our separate ways.”

“Don’t you dare-” Her breath is cut short by a sob she didn’t see coming, and she gasps for air,  “I don’t want you to _honor our contract”_ The words spit out of her like venom, the bitterness stinging her tongue as she powers through, “I want you.”

“You don't wanna date me, Lex.” The nickname sounds too soft in her lips, breaks through the walls Clarke has put up, stings deep in Lexa, “You want to date the girl you paid for. And I'm not it.“

Lexa shakes her head, takes another step closer to Clarke, struggles for words because _no, no, that’s the opposite of it_ . “I got to know you. You showed me much more than the character you put up, I want _you_.”

“You don't know me at all,” Clarke says with an even voice, her tone so calm Lexa feels her own stomach coiling, but her eyes overflow with tears and as she blinks, they fall, hot and thick down her cheeks, “My job is to sell an experience and you bought it.”

“Jesus _fuck_ , Clarke,” Lexa sobs her name, closing the distance between them, “I could believe that if you hadn’t taken me to your apartment, poured your heart out to me, told me you _love me_. If you didn’t have tears running down your cheeks right now.”

With matching tears stinging as they roll down her own cheeks, Lexa has to look up to meet her eyes. Clarke towers above her in her heels as Lexa pads closer barefoot, but that’s not the reason Lexa feels like she could fit in a matchbox.

What makes her feel so small is the way Clarke is turning into a professional persona she’s never seen before and there’s nothing she can do about it.

“What do you want me to say, Lexa?” Clarke says in an exasperated tone, sighing heavily as she turns to look to Lexa again.

“I want you to say that you’ll fight, that we’ll learn together, that we can do this,” Lexa is past caring about how needy she sounds, about how this doesn’t feel like something she’d do, “We can deal with your clients, if you choose to stay at your job. We can deal with out ghosts, but I want you to say this is not the end.” She reaches out to Clarke, touching her for a moment before taking her hand away, “You’re just giving up, Clarke.”

“I'm not.”

“You are. You're just taking the easy way out,” it hurts to say that, it hurts to accuse Clarke so bluntly, it hurts to see that she’s losing the war before she could even prepare for battle.

“It’s not that,” Clarke shakes her head and tears spill from her eyes - Lexa catches them before she can fight herself on this, “How can you not see how big of a mistake this is? To even think we could do this? You’re in another country and I sleep with people for money. I slept with _you_ for money.” Lexa tastes bile and snaps her hands back, her heart bending on itself with those words, “We can’t fucking do this. We started wrong, Lexa, and in doing just that, I’ve been fucking hurt before-”

“So have I! And that’s no reason to-”

“No, you haven't?” Clarke interrupts her and Lexa takes a step back out of pure shock, “ _Fuck_ , Lexa, your girlfriend died in a car crash you caused. You feel guilty.” It’s a low blow. It’s a fucking low blow and Clarke knows it and Lexa feels the floor vanishing from under her feet, “It's a whole other thing from having someone tell you you're not worth the effort.“

“That's what you're doing.“

“I guess it is. But I'm just telling you the truth,” her voice has turned cold and mechanic now and Lexa can barely breathe. “This, what we have going on? It's not worth the pain that will come.”

“I'm not worth it,” it’s the only logical conclusion Lexa can get from it - if she’s even capable of _logic_ anymore. Everything inside her is a jumble she can’t make sense of.

“Don't put words in my mouth,” Clarke says plain and simple, her voice steady even if her eyes are the bright blue that only comes to life when she’s feeling too much - Lexa knows that, Lexa knows _her_ . “I’m doing what’s best for _me_. I’m trying not to go too far, to do more than I can handle. You should understand it.

“Well, I don’t.” Because Lexa can understand a lot, but she doesn’t even want to try to understand this.

Clarke softens, gives her half a smile that only serves to crush Lexa’s lungs until it can’t hold on to air anymore, “You deserve more than this.”

“We both do. And we both can get it, together. Clarke-” Lexa clings to whatever shadow of hope she can find, but she can recognize a lost cause when she sees one, when it’s walking out her damn door, “I- Why are you doing this?”

“I'm saving you the trouble and I’m saving myself the heartbreak,” Clarke grabs her coat from the back of the couch in one fluid motion, hanging it on her arm, and it’s such an ordinary thing that it seems out of place in the battle field Lexa finds herself in, “I do hope you find the love you deserve, I hope you have a good life.”

When the door falls closed behind Clarke, it’s just a click, barely a noise at all. But there’s a tone to finality to it that Lexa can swear echoes all across the room, every corner and crevice, deep within her bones.

She feels numb.

After a decade of going over and over the same pain, feeling the same old guilt, keeping herself awake with the same thoughts, Lexa had opened herself up, let someone else in with the same ease she had back when she was just a kid with nothing holding her back.

After all those years, she felt love - perhaps too much, too hard, too soon, too deeply - and she could swear she had been loved back.

Lexa drags her feet until she falls to the couch, her eyes glazed over as she fights to understand everything that happened, to make sense of how it’s even possible for her to feel everything and nothing at all. She curls in on herself, tucking her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them - maybe if she puts enough pressure to her middle, she’ll keep her heart from falling to pieces.

It takes a moment for the tears to come full force, rolling thick and bitter down the bridge of her nose, soaking her hair still pulled into an updo, making her throat close with the force of her sobs. But when it starts, Lexa can’t tell for sure if they’ll ever stop.

Within a fucking week and a half - it feels like so much longer, it feels like months, like years, like a lifetime shared -, she had poured herself all out and now she’s empty.

She’s empty and alone, aside from the brand new ghosts that’ll keep her company.

* * *

Scribbling down a few notes in an almost unintelligible handwriting on the tiny margin left on the document, Lexa tries to blink the sand from her eyes and focus on the fine print in front of her, half cursing whoever put together this case and decided to use the smallest font available.

It’s barely eight in the evening, but she’s been awake since well before the crack of dawn, trying to tire herself enough to fall asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, to actually stay asleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. That hadn’t helped at all in the last few days, but she has high hopes that the pile of work she’s gone through will make her blissfully dead to the world in a few hours. If it doesn’t, tomorrow she’s reaching out for sleeping pills without thinking twice.

Lexa can’t even remember when was the last time she had a good full night of sleep.

Well, that’s a lie.

She remembers.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost feel the warmth of a body against hers, arms loosely wrapped around her middle, tugging her closer if she dared to shift more than two inches away in her sleep. If she lets herself get distracted for even a moment, her mind drifts back to blonde hair pilling on her shoulder, gentle puffs of air hitting her neck with each breath, nonsensical mumbling in a sleepy haze.

It’s been six days and Lexa doesn’t know if she’ll ever sleep that well again.

Lexa drops her pen and stretches, working a kink on her neck from being hunched over a desk all day as she gets up and circles her desk. Maybe she should stop trying to pack a week’s worth of work in one afternoon, turn the television on to keep her company and have some dinner - kale chips and coffee are hardly enough to tide her over until tomorrow.

She thinks about the cookbook she got as a Christmas present, still sitting in her luggage with its frayed edges and well worn, and decides to order take out instead.

Sinking her bare feet into the plush rug in front of her desk as she drags herself across the room, Lexa tries to untangle her hair from its messy bun, only to give up halfway through it and pile it back on top of her head. She needs to wash it. She needs to take a good shower, scrub herself clean of her memories and get her shit together.

From her sleek chair to the dark wooden shelves, everything in her office at home seems to glare at her for looking the furthest thing from professional - if any of her clients could see her now, they’d fire her on the spot. Her only reply is to draw her hands into the sleeves of her baggy sweater and shuffle towards the liquor cabinet.

Lexa pours herself whiskey in a glass that is too expensive for her to have in her hands right now, and if she nearly fills the glass to the brim with alcohol, she’s more than willing to pretend it still counts as _one_ shot.

Because she won’t get drunk. She will not go down that road, not because of a broken heart, not because someone doesn’t think she’s worth staying for.

It’s been six days, but the words still cut deep in her.

Lexa takes a gulp from her whiskey, feeling it burning down her throat, its fire spreading out to her chest almost as if it’s cleaning her wounds, helping them heal. It won’t help. Each time she replays those few hours in her mind, fresh new gashes comes to life in her heart. Each time she thinks about what happened, Lexa finds new ways to feel guilty, new ways in which those words might have been true, new ways to torture herself when it’s three in the morning and she can’t fall back asleep.

The memories wash over her again and Lexa takes another swig of whiskey, hoping it’ll stop the bile from rising to her throat.

It had been years since Lexa had cried herself to sleep like that - sometime after Costia’s death, a few years before she stopped blaming herself.

When she woke up, in the wee hours of the morning, her entire body was sore from sleeping in an odd position, but it felt more than that. It felt like she had taken a beating and was waking up in an empty alley, alone to gather up whatever was left of her. She could barely keep her puffy eyes open long enough for her to register they were stinging with the salt from her tears and her head was pounding so hard it felt like it’d split in half if she weren’t careful, but what hurt the most was her heart.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered reading an article about how, when you have a bad break up, your brain actually thinks you’re physically hurt. But mostly, it seemed cliche to clutch her chest when the ache snuck up on her, made her heart beat harder but slower, made her breathing become ragged but deep at the same time.

Her heart - her actual, physical heart, sitting in the middle of her chest, slightly to the left, that she knew was fine - felt like the origin point of a stellar collision, pain and debris flying from it to every point in her body, knocking the air out of her and killing all hope it found on its way.

When Lexa woke up, she got up even if her body screamed at her to roll over and forget the world again, drank a glass of water because she knew she should, and booked the first flight back home.

Lexa stripped down to her underwear, the button up shirt feeling too constricting, her slacks too warm. She stripped down and even then, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, like she’d never be able to breathe again. She packed in a haste, throwing clothes into her luggage without caring about them getting wrinkled, throwing into the garbage whatever pieces Cl- _she_ had touched.

It hurts to even think her name. It hurt then and it still hurts now.

Between gathering everything she couldn’t leave behind and fleeing the hotel as if it were a crime scene, Lexa texted Anya to let her know she was on her way to Toronto, to ask her to cancel every event and make her excuses for her, to update her if anything new happened in any of their cases.

Lexa had ignored the plethora of winky and smirking emojis she got. She had ignored the following texts as well, letting Anya believe for a while longer that her plans were more festive than staying in her pajamas for three days without showering.

She had ignored _all_ of Anya’s texts so far - they ranged from misspelled texts sent at two in the morning that were clearly not meant for her and a gleeful “Happy New Year!” sent with more emojis than Lexa knew what to do with to long rants about a client she couldn’t put up with without Lexa’s help and silly selfies with Raven wrapped around her.

She hasn’t been exactly in the right mood to answer any cheerful messages.

Instead, Lexa had turned her phone off - she still had to change her wallpaper from that stupid, adorable selfie back to its usual black background - and focused on getting work done, on organizing all cases she had left open in the New York firm so she could pass them along, on cutting ties with anything connecting her to that city.

She doesn’t want to go back. It’s a city big enough that she might never run into the same person twice, but Lexa doesn’t want to go back and risk it.

Taking another sip from her whiskey, Lexa lets it roll on her tongue as she glances at the glass in her hand. It’s half empty now, and there a low fire burning in her stomach - a fire that threatens to turn into pain if she doesn’t put something solid in her soon. She craves Chinese food and for a moment, Lexa considers ordering it in before she remembers the last time she’s had it - she remembers swapping childhood stories and tiptoeing around their desires to have children, she remembers idle chit chat and _our home_ , she remembers-

 _Fuck_. Thai food it is.

Her phone is in the living room, lying on the floor where she threw it after staring at her own lockscreen for a little too long, after realizing her cheeks were wet with tears she didn’t mean to shed. After feeling her traitor heart jump in her chest in pure excitement to see blue eyes squinting in happiness and a smile that could light up the world a moment before it crumbled in her chest when it _remembered_.

She makes a mental note to change it before even calling the damn Thai place as she walks out her office.

Padding barefoot on the hardwood floor, Lexa takes in the black and white prints that hang on the wall, traces the black frame of a ballerina that doesn’t quite look like it as she makes her way through the hallway and towards the living room. Anya gave her that artwork, said it complimented the Scandinavian decor she was going for with her neutral palette and minimal comfort - let’s say Lexa really was going for it instead of just not knowing how to decorate her own apartment. Anya had teased her for a long time after Lexa moved in, talked about how nothing in her home feels like a _home_.

As Lexa takes in all the sharp edges and dark colors, the scarce furniture that is only there if it serves a purpose, the solitary plant clinging to life with all its worth, she can’t even pretend she ever felt like home in this place.

She found _home_ somewhere else.

She found home among unfinished paintings and mismatched chairs, exposed bricks and too many throw pillows.

Yet, Lexa can find _her_ in this place, can imagine what it’d look like with her in it, how she’d change the scenario by bringing bright colors to it one painting at a time, how she could infuse this place with life with a single smile. It doesn’t look like anywhere they’ve been together, but everywhere she looks, all she sees is _her_.

A knock on the door pulls her out of her internal battle between convincing herself she can get her phone, look at _that_ picture again, even if she can’t calm her trembling hands and giving up on ordering take out at all.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat and washing it down with whiskey, Lexa turns towards her front door. Between her greasy hair and the dark circles under her eyes, she has half a mind to pretend she isn’t home, to hide in the bathroom until whoever is on the other side of that door decides to leave.

It’s probably Anya. She should be back by now and Lexa knows she won’t let her gazillion texts go unanswered - even if she thinks Lexa hasn’t answered any of them because she’s too busy being naked in bed with someone who probably doesn’t even remember her name by now.

There’s a slim chance it’s her mom, back from New York and ready to start her move there so she can be living next door to her grandchild by the time they’re born. Lexa can almost cling to the hope that it is indeed her mom - heavens know she needs a motherly hug and to fall asleep with her mom’s sweet voice telling her everything will be alright. But Lexa doesn’t want to face her mother quite yet, doesn’t want to shatter the illusion the woman holds so dear, not when she brightened up at the notion that her daughter had finally found someone that made her happy.

But it’s probably Anya.

Maybe she brought Raven with her - if that’s the case, Lexa can appreciate the universe’s cruel sense of humor.

Dragging her feet towards the front door, Lexa takes another sip from her whiskey, lets its warmth wash over her as she holds her head high, trying to convey a dignity she doesn’t feel worthy of in her ten-year-old leggings. Lexa swings the door open more forcefully than she meant to and grips the door handle to keep herself steady, taking in a very “tall dark and handsome” Anya wearing leather and smoky eye makeup.

When her shoulders sag with the relief that washes over her, Lexa doesn’t allow herself to wonder why.

Anya pushes herself away from the door frame and walks in when Lexa steps aside without bothering to give her much more than a grunt as hello. It’s _Anya_ , she’s seen her in worse shape - she hasn’t, but that’s neither here nor there. Lexa takes another big gulp from her whiskey, feeling it sloshing around in her empty stomach.

She has half a mind to ask Anya to drive her to McDonald’s - which tells her more than she needs to know about in how bad of a shape she is.

Hearing a soft laughter beside her, Lexa turns to see Anya smirking at her unsteady legs, at the way she almost clings to the wall, at how the hallway seems to stretch for miles. It’s not mocking by any means - calling it a teasing look is a stretch, she mostly seems amused at some joke she hasn’t shared with Lexa yet - but it still makes Lexa wish she hasn’t opened the door at all.

Anya pries the glass from Lexa’s fingers, smelling it before taking a swig herself. “A day and a half without Clarke and you’re reaching for the hard liquor already?“

It’s been six days.

It’s been six days since she spoke that name.

It’s been six days since she heard it, since she allowed herself to think about it at all. Hearing _her_ name spoken so freely, like she hasn’t plucked her heart from her chest and torn it apart, almost takes her back to square one. Even just hearing her name is enough for Lexa to taste it in her own lips, feel the way her tongue rolled around it, remember how it sounds whispered against warm skin.

In these last six days, Lexa has fought tooth and nail to put some distance between her two selves - the skeptical lawyer who lives for her work and the woman who fell for someone she shouldn’t.

Because she knows they’re not the same person and she knows she’ll only keep her sanity if she keeps them apart.

The Lexa who lives in Toronto and wouldn’t be caught dead in a sweat shirt isn’t the same Lexa who spent an entire day watching TV in an apartment with exposed bricks covered in art. They’re two entirely different people and the sooner Lexa makes a hard line between them, the sooner she can start healing.

Lexa had come to the conclusion she had lived someone else’s life in those two weeks. She had forgotten all lessons she had learned in her nearly thirty years of life and had dove right into something that she couldn’t have, into a relationship that could never be, into someone whose heart could never be hers. And now that the fog has lifted, she can see this. She can tell them apart.

But then Anya comes and brings _her_ into this life and blurries all the lines and Lexa can’t do this, she cannot do this.

Lexa snatches the glass back and tosses it back, finishing it in one gulp, “Want some?” She offers because it’s the polite thing to do, but she leaves her own glass in the sink - a loud sign that she’s done with drinking for the night.

Anya almost manages to hide the judgment in her raised eyebrow, but Lexa still catches it. Of course Anya knows something is off. The last time she saw her, Lexa had been holding hands with who she thought was the love of her life, planning dinners and enduring teasing about how in love she was. Now she’s drinking alone in her apartment with most lights off and reeking of heartbreak.

“Nah, I gotta meet Raven in a bit,” Anya brushes off as she watches Lexa making her way around the kitchen island and towards the living room. “She’s taking me to see a meteor shower. Ugh, your sappiness rubbed off on her.” Anya makes a big deal of that sentence, throwing her head back as she grunts, like it’s the absolute worst idea to watch the stars with her girlfriend. But there’s a smile in her lips she can’t quite mask - she’s happy and Lexa is happy for her, but right now Anya needs to go be happy somewhere else. “I just came over to give you this.”

Only then Lexa notices the bag hanging from Anya’s fingertips.

It’s a simple paper bag, all black, without anything to give away where it came from. It takes Lexa back to the last time she got one of those, who gave it to her, what was inside it, all the fun they had-

Lexa swallows thickly, past the knot in her throat, and grits her teeth as she eyes Anya up and down, quirking her brow up with a mischief she doesn’t feel. She stretches her legs as she walks towards Anya, feeling them heavy with whiskey and exhaustion - she really needs to eat. “A belated Christmas present?” Lexa tries to joke, but it falls flat to her own ears.

Anya rolls her eyes dramatically. “No, you dick. Your lady-” she draws the last letter out for much longer than she should, in a much more perverted way than Lexa would have liked, “-made me promise to hand deliver it to you, so here I am.”

It’s from Clarke.

 _Clarke_ sent it to her.

Her stomach flips and swings inside of her, so wildly she worries something will detach inside of her - Lexa can’t tell if it’s because Clarke went through the trouble of finding Anya just to make sure something gets to her or because she finally allowed herself to think her name again.

She reaches out with trembling fingers to take it from Anya’s stretched hand, “What is it?”

“I didn’t snoop, but I’m guessing something kinky,” Anya says as she plops down on the couch, clearly waiting for Lexa to open it. She might not have snooped, but she’s curious alright. “I mean, come on. A black paper bag without any logos on it? What else could it be?”

For a moment, Lexa almost hopes it is something kinky - it’ll be easier to throw it out if it’s a toy she won’t have any use for. But she knows, deep down she knows it’s something else entirely, something that will make it even harder for her to keep herself and the Lexa who fell in love during the holiday season apart.

Struggling to keep air coming into her lungs, Lexa walks towards the armchair near Anya and sits down, cradles the bag in between her hands, lets it rest on her lap. It’s light enough that Lexa wonders if there’s anything at all inside it, but it doesn’t make her chest any less tight.

Lexa pulls out the tissue paper hiding whatever is inside from view, sets it aside with the utmost care, taps lightly on it to keep it from flying away and finally, takes a look inside.

There are two envelopes inside it.

She picks up the smallest one.

Her hands are shaking when she opens it to find a small card, less than three inches, with four lines written. Lexa takes in the handwriting before she can find the strength to read the note - the loopy y and flattened a, the e that falls just below the other letters.

Then she focus on the actual words.

She holds her breath, wills herself to stop shaking and reads it.

_Here’s everything you gave me. What happened between us was real and I don’t want your money tainting it all._

She reads it once, twice and a third time just to be sure her sleep deprived, starving mind isn’t playing tricks on her. Her eyes fall to the signature, and she’s grasping at straws, hoping someone else had asked Clarke to make sure this got to her hands, but there’s a simple “ _C._ ” at the bottom of the note.

She’s not even worth a full name.

Placing it on top of the tissue paper, feeling the ghost of each word stuck to her eyelids, Lexa reaches out for the second envelope.

Her hand shakes so badly the bag rolls to the floor as she pulls the envelope out and she swears she tastes bile when she sees it. It’s a commercial envelope, without any writing on it, without any stamps or anything to keep it sealed. It’s thick with bills Lexa doesn’t bother counting because she knows how much is inside, because it’s the same envelope she handed them to Clarke in the first place.

It doesn’t even look like Clarke ever took them out from the envelope.

Lexa feels a sob ripping through her, so violently she’s half scared it’ll cut her open from the inside out. It starts in her core and it runs up her spine, her ribcage, her very bones, and ends in the back of her throat, coming out as a strangled sound.

She’s helpless to fight it.

She doesn’t have the strength to keep it inside and she doesn’t know if she wants to.

Because Lexa never had to deal with a broken heart before - Clarke’s words echo within her, shine new light on old wounds. She had to deal with unbearable grief and overwhelming guilt, but she doesn’t know what to do with the pieces of her heart, doesn’t know how to glue them back together.

And it’s not fair.

If Clarke feels even a fraction of what Lexa does - and she does, she _does_ , Lexa knows it, her damn note tells her so -, they could make it. They could have made it.

It is _not_ fair.

Her throat tightens when another cry struggles to leave her body and she heaves, she curls in on herself, lets everything fall from her grasp. Her sweater feels too rough against her skin, her leggings too clingy and she wants them out, wants to take it all off, take it all off until she’s just a heart struggling to make every beat happen.

She only remembers Anya is with her when she’s kneeling in front of her, clutching her knee hard enough to get some reaction from her. Lexa blinks her tears away only for new ones to take their place, rolling thick and hot down her cheeks, and she can’t stop.

She opened a gate she’s managed to keep closed for six full days and she can’t stop.

When Anya wraps her arms around her, almost stiffly, almost as if she’s not used to the gesture, Lexa doesn’t do much besides cling to her and let the tears come. They’ve never been the emotional ones and that’s what made them bond in the first place, but Anya whispers calming nonsense in her ear and Lexa realizes she’s glad to have her.

She doesn’t know how long it takes her to stop crying

When she does, she feels older. It feels like a thousand years had passed between the moment she opened the door for Anya and when she finally leans back, sniffing and mumbling apologies without really knowing what she’s sorry for.

“Lexa,” Anya says in a voice as gentle as Lexa has ever heard, tracing her thumbs over Lexa’s cheeks, trying to erase the path that the tears carved. “What happened?” Lexa wants to laugh and cry some more - Anya is comforting her and she has _no_ idea. “Did Clarke- Did she break up with you in that note? What’s wrong?”

Anya is a rational woman, much like Lexa always prided herself to be. She’s out of her element and she’ll need an explanation with actual words that make sense to know how to help her. So Lexa clings to it, to the need to put everything that happened in the last couple of weeks into words.

“Well,” Lexa begins, her voice hoarse and breaking. She wipes at her face with the sleeve of her sweater, making sure all tears are gone before daring to speak again, “She actually broke up with me the night before I came home. That’s why I came home.”

“Shit, Lex,” Anya says, rolling on her heels so she can get up and sit back on the couch, now that she doesn’t have to hold Lexa together. “You guys looked disgustingly happy, like head over heels in love with each other. I don’t understand.”

Lexa wants to say that neither does she.

But she does.

She understands.

Even if she wants to say nothing makes sense, even if she wants to rip her heart from her chest so it stops stabbing her with every beat - she understands. Deep down, she understands why Clarke did all that, she can see her side of things, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Lexa shifts in the armchair, trying to get herself to be comfortable in her own skin - something tells her she won’t be able to anytime soon. She locks her jaw, trying to keep new tears from pooling in her eyes, and forces herself to take a deep breath before turning to Anya.

She should start from the beginning.

“I didn’t meet Clarke at her gallery.” Saying her name is like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of her, making her heart beat that much more painfully, and she knows that’s how it’ll feel like this for some time still.

But she’ll heal.

And to heal, she needs to let it all out.

So Lexa tells the love story that could never be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I half want to jump into an explanation as to why Lexa and Clarke both acted like this and did what they did and why things went down this way. I know it wasn't right and it wasn't fair, it doesn't sit right with me either. And I can tell you that these issues won't be brushed off as if they're nothing, they'll be brought up in the sequel and both Clarke and Lexa will have to work hard to get past them so they can be right for each other. I hope I do them justice.
> 
> Thank you so _so_ much to everyone who's been here from the beginning and to those who joined along the way. It was one hell of a journey. I hope to see you all in the sequel, that you can find here: **[earning it back](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12681564/chapters/28913412)**


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